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Ylrir i ■■• inl/fu   /J    r  fl/l/t  I'/Hfi 


WIT   AND   WISDOM    OF 

EPICTETUS 
it 


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757  copies  of  this  edition  are  printed 
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Copyright,  igo4 
By  Nathan  Haskell  Dole 


HENRV  MOfcSE  bYfc.fHE.fcW* 


INTRODUCTION 

St.  Augustine  called  Epictetus  the 
most  noble  of  Stoics,  and  if  we  may 
judge  of  him  by  the  utterances  recorded 
by  his  disciple,  Flavius  Arrian,  who  took 
them  down  from  his  lips  at  Nicopolis, 
we  cannot  help  agreeing  with  this  en- 
comium. Arrian  declares  that  they 
were  not  put  into  literary  form,  were 
merely  "  such  things  as  one  man  might 
say  to  another  on  occasion,"  but  that 
they  represent  the  highest  thought  of 
the  Master  who,  when  he  spoke,  had  but 
one  aim  —  "to  stir  his  hearers'  minds 
toward  the  best  things." 

Almost  nothing  is  known  of  Epictetus' 
life.  He  was  born  in  Hieropolis,  near 
the  Phrygian  Meander.  He  became  the 
slave  of  Epaphroditus,  whose  character 
may  be  surmised  when  it  is  stated  that 
he  was  the  favourite  of  the  Emperor  Nero. 
There  is  a  legend  to  the  effect  that 
Epaphroditus,  who  had  himself  been  a 
slave,   was    twisting    Epictetus'   leg    for 


■r  t  rr  i 


i  00 


amusement.  Epictetus  remarked,  "  If 
you  persist,  you  will  break  my  leg." 
Epaphroditus  went  on  and  broke  the  leg. 
Epictetus'  only  comment  was  :  "  Did  I 
not  warn  you  that  you  would  break  my 
leg  ? " 

However  cruelly  the  master  may  have 
treated  the  slave,  he  sent  him  to  at- 
tend the  lectures  on  philosophy  by  Mu- 
sonius  Rufus,  the  son  of  a  Roman  knight, 
and  a  very  celebrated  Stoic,  whose  works 
have  unfortunately  all  perished.  Just 
as  Russian  noblemen  used  to  have 
poets  and  musicians  among  their  serfs, 
so  the  Romans  were  proud  to  attach 
philosophers  and  scholars  to  their  reti- 
nues. Often,  undoubtedly,  the  prisoner 
of  war,  sold  as  a  slave,  may  have  been 
a  man  of  more  consequence  than  his 
fortuitous  owner.  Nero,  whose  cruelties 
and  excesses  were  beginning  to  stir  the 
Romans  to  revolt,  committed  suicide 
with  the  aid  of  Epaphroditus  in  67 
a.  d.  Epaphroditus  himself  was  put  to 
death  by  Domitian,  and  when  that  cruel 
emperor  expelled  all  the  philosophers 
from  Rome  with  the  exception  of  Muso- 

ii 


nius  Rufus,  Epictetus  went  to  Nicopolis, 
the  city  of  Augustus,  at  the  southwestern 
extremity  of  Epirus.  Here  he  lived  to 
a  venerable  old  age  in  spite  of  his  feeble 
health  and  his  lameness.  He  is  said 
to  have  been  true  to  his  own  teachings,  to 
have  lived  with  the  utmost  simplicity, 
with  no  servant  or  other  inmate  of  his 
house.  A  story  illustrating  his  kindness 
of  heart  relates  how  he  rescued  an  infant 
that  had  been  exposed  to  death  by  some 
parent  who  had  wished  to  check  the 
growth  of  his  family.  Epictetus  took 
the  child  and  hired  a  nurse  to  care  for  it 
and  brought  it  up. 

The  philosophy  of  Stoicism,  as  ex- 
pounded in  the  fragmentary  sentences  of 
Epictetus,  is  unquestionably  conducive 
to  a  happy  life,  a  life  of  serenity.  It  is 
not  strange  that  Epictetus  should  have 
been  adopted  by  the  Christian  Church  : 
the  Encheiridion  or  Handbook  has  the 
distinction  of  being  the  only  pagan  book 
recommended  to  the  religious.  It  de- 
serves it.  For  it  certainly  helps  men  to 
be  manly,  to  endure  afflictions  without 
repining,  to  take  life  as  it  comes,  to  be 

ill 


simple  and  duly  humble,  to  be  sympa- 
thetic and  unselfish.  Its  teachings  are 
inspiring.  Such  a  book  as  this,  coming 
down  to  us  through  nineteen  centuries, 
is  indeed  a  breviary  treasure  to  be  com- 
mended for  reading  and  meditation. 

N.  H.  D. 


IV 


^ 


THE   TEACHING    OF 
EPICTETUS 

BOOK  I. 
I. 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    PHILOSOPHY 

If  you  would  be  good,  then  first  be- 
lieve that  you  are  evil. 

The  beginning  of  philosophy,  at  least 
with  those  who  lay  hold  of  it  as  they 
ought  and  enter  by  the  door,  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  their  own  feebleness  and 
incapacity  in  respect  of  necessary  things. 

For  we  come  into  the  world  having  by 
nature  no  idea  of  a  right-angled  triangle 
or  of  a  quarter-tone,  or  of  a  semi-tone, 


§0 


but  by  a  certain  tradition  of  art  we  learn 
each  of  these  things.  And  thus  those 
who  know  them  not,  do  not  suppose 
that  they  know  them.  But  good  and 
evil,  and  nobleness  and  baseness,  and 
the  seemly  and  the  unseemly,  and  happi- 
ness and  misfortune,  and  what  is  our 
concern  and  what  is  not,  and  what  ought 
to  be  done  and  what  not  —  who  has 
come  into  the  world  without  an  im- 
planted notion  of  these  things  ?  Thus 
we  all  use  these  terms,  and  endeavour 
to  fit  our  natural  conceptions  to  every 
several  thing. 

Behold,  the  beginning  of  philosophy 
is  the  observation  of  how  men  contradict 
one  another,  and  the  search  whence 
comes  this  contradiction,  and  the  censure 
and  mistrust  of  bare  opinion.  And  it  is 
an  inquiry  into  that  which  seems,  whether 
it  rightly  seems ;  and  the  discovery  of  a 
certain  rule,  even  as  we  have  found  a 
balance    for  weights   and   a   plumb  line 


6 


for  straight  and  crooked.  This  is  the 
beginning  of  philosophy.  Are  all  things 
right  to  all  to  whom  they  seem  so  ?  But 
how  can  contradictory  things  be  right  ? 

No,  not  all  things,  but  those  that 
seem  to  us  right. 

And  why  to  you  more  than  to  the 
Syrians,  or  to  the  Egyptians  ?  Why 
more  than  to  me  or  to  any  other  man  ? 

Not  at  all  more. 

Seeming  then  does  not  for  every  man 
answer  to  Being ;  for  neither  in  weights 
or  measures  does  the  bare  appearance 
satisfy  us,  but  for  each  case  we  have 
discovered  some  rule. 

And  here  then  is  there  no  rule  above 
seeming  ? 

And  how  could  it  be  that  there  were 
no  evidence  or  discovery  of  things  the 
most  necessary  for  men  ?  So  there  is  a 
rule.  And  why  do  we  not  seek  it  and 
find  it  and,  having  found  it,  henceforth 
use  it  without  transgression  and  not  so 


~7~ 


v  '     J  •••-'?••.  •    :.*.■    •     '  -.  ■,'•••,-•■/••■■••..••■  i 


much  as  stretch  forth  a  finger  without 
it  ?  For  this  it  is,  I  think,  that  when 
it  is  discovered  cures  of  their  madness 
those  that  mismeasure  all  things  by  seem- 
ing alone ;  so  that  henceforth,  setting 
out  from  things  known  and  investigated, 
we  may  use  an  organised  body  of  natural 
conceptions  in  all  our  several  dealings. 


What  is  the  subject  about  which  we 
are  inquiring 

Pleasure  ? 

Submit  it  to  the  rule,  cast  it  into  the 
scales.  Now  the  Good  must  be  a  thing 
of  such  sort  that  we  ought  to  trust  in  it  ? 

Truly. 

And  we  ought  to  have  faith  in  it  ? 

We  ought. 

And  ought  we  to  trust  in  anything 
which  is  unstable  ? 

No. 

And  has  pleasure  any  stability  ? 

It  has  not. 


8 


Take  it  then  and  fling  it  out  of  the 
scales  and  set  it  far  away  from  the  place 
of  the  Good. 

But  if  you  are  dim  of  sight  and  one 
balance  does  not  suffice,  then  take  an- 
other. 

Is  it  right  to  be  elated  in  what  is  good  ? 

Yes. 

And  is  it  right  to  be  elated  in  the 
presence  of  a  pleasure  ?  See  to  it  that 
thou  say  not  it  is  right ;  or  I  shall  not 
hold  thee  worthy  even  of  the  balance. 
Thus  are  things  judged  and  weighed 
when  the  rules  are  held  in  readiness. 
And  the  aim  of  philosophy  is  this  :  to 
examine  and  establish  the  rules.  And 
to  use  them  when  they  are  known  is  the 
task  of  an  wise  and  good  man. 


II. 


ON    THE    NATURAL    CONCEPTION 

The  natural  conceptions  are  common 
to  all  men,  and  one  can  not  contradict 
another.  For  who  of  us  but  affirms 
that  the  Good  is  profitable,  and  that  we 
should  choose  it  and  in  all  circumstances 
follow  and  pursue  it  ?  Who  of  us  but 
affirms  that  uprightness  is  honourable 
and  becoming  ? 

Where  then  does  the  contradiction 
arise  ? 

Concerning  the  application  of  the 
natural  conceptions  to  things  severally. 
When  one  says,  "  He  did  well,  he  is  a 
worthy  man,"  and  another,  "  Nay,  but 
he  did  foolishly,"  then  there  is  a  con- 
tradiction among  men,  one  with  another. 
And  there  is  the  same  contradiction 
among  the   Jews   and   the  Syrians  and 


10 


the  Egyptians  and  the  Romans ;  not 
whether  that  which  is  righteous  should 
be  preferred  to  all  things  and  in  all  cases 
pursued,  but  whether  it  be  righteous  or 
unrighteous  to  eat  the  flesh  of  swine. 

What  is  it  then  to  be  educated  ? 

It  is  to  learn  to  apply  the  natural  con- 
ceptions to  each  thing  severally  according 
to  nature ;  and  further,  to  discern  that 
of  things  that  exist  some  are  in  our  own 
power  and  the  rest  are  not  in  our 
own  power.  And  things  that  are  in  our 
own  power  are  the  will  and  all  the  works 
of  the  will.  And  things  that  are  not  in  our 
own  power  are  the  body  and  the  parts 
of  the  body,  and  possessions  and  parents 
and  brethren  and  children  and  country 
and,  in  a  word,  our  associates.  Where 
now  shall  we  place  the  Good  ?  To 
what  objects  shall  we  apply  it  ? 

To  those  which  are  in  our  own 
power  ? 


.-.».. 


II 


B:. 


V 


Then  is  not  health  good,  and  whole 
limbs  and  life  ?  and  are  not  children  and 
parents  and  country  ?  And  who  will 
bear  with  you  if  you  say  this  ?  Let  us 
then  transfer  it  to  these  things.  Now, 
can  one  be  happy  who  is  injured,  and 
has  missed  gaining  what  is  good  ? 
He  can  not. 

And    can    such    a    one  bear  himself 
toward  his  fellows  as  he  ought  ? 

How  could  he  ?  For  I  have  it  from 
nature  that  I  must  seek  my  own  profit. 
If  it  profits  me  to  own  a  piece  of  land, 
it  profits  me  to  take  it  from  my  neigh- 
bour. If  it  profits  me  to  have  a  garment, 
it  profits  me  to  steal  it  from  the  bath. 
And  hence  wars,  seditions,  tyrannies, 
conspiracies.  And  how  shall  I  be  able 
to  maintain  a  right  mind  toward  God  ? 
for  if  I  suffer  injury  and  misfortune,  it 
can  not  be  but  he  neglects  me.  And 
what  have  I  to  do  with  him  if  he  can  not 
help  me  ?     And,  again,  what  have  I  to 


12 


do  with  him  if  he  is  willing  to  let  me 
continue  in  the  evils  in  which  I  am  ? 
Henceforth  I  begin  to  hate  him.  Why 
then  do  we  build  temples  and  set  up 
statues  to  Zeus  as  we  do  to  powers  of 
evil,  such  as  Fever  ?  And  how  is  he 
now  the  Saviour  and  the  Raingiver  and  the 
Fruitgiver  ?  And  verily,  all  this  follows, 
if  we  place  anywhere  in  external  things 
the  nature  and  being  of  the  Good. 


13 


THE  MASTER  -  FACULTY 

Of  all  our  faculties  you  shall  find  but 
one  that  can  contemplate  itself,  or, 
therefore,  approve  or  disapprove  itself. 
How  far  has  grammar  the  power  of 
contemplation  ? 

Only  so  far  as  to  judge  concerning 
letters. 

And  music  ? 

Only  so  far  as  to  judge  concerning 
melodies. 

Does  any  of  them  then  contemplate 
itself? 

Not  one. 

But  when  you  have  need  to  write  to 
your  friend,  grammar  will  tell  you  how 
to  write  ;  but  whether  to  write  or  not, 
grammar  will  not  tell.     And  so  with  the 


14 


musical  art  in  the  case  of  melodies  ;  but 
whether  it  is  now  meet  or  not  to  sing  or 
to  play,  music  will  not  tell. 

What,  then,  will  tell  it  ? 

That  faculty  which  both  contemplates 
itself  and  all  other  things. 

And  what  is  this  ? 

It  is  the  faculty  of  Reason ;  for  we 
have  received  none  other  which  can 
consider  itself — what  it  is,  and  what  it 
can,  and  what  it  is  worth  —  and  all  the 
other  faculties  as  well.  For  what  else 
is  it  that  tells  us  that  a  golden  thing  is 
beautiful,  since  itself  does  not  ?  Clearly 
it  is  the  faculty  that  makes  use  of  ap- 
pearances. What  else  is  it  that  judges 
of  music  and  grammar,  and  the  other 
faculties  and  proves  their  uses  and  shows 
the  fit  occasions  ? 

None  else  than  this. 

Thus  the  Gods,  as  it  was  fit  they 
should,    place    in   our    power  only  that 


15 


which  is  the  mightiest  and  master  thing, 
the  right  use  of  appearances ;  but  other 
things  are  not  in  our  power. 

Was  it  that  they  did  not  wish  it  ? 

Indeed  I  think  that  had  they  been 
able  they  had  made  over  to  us  those 
things  also  ;  but  this  they  could  in  no 
way  do.  For  being  on  the  earth  and 
bound  up  with  this  flesh  and  with  these 
associates,  how  could  we  fail  as  regards 
these  to  be  hindered  by  external  things  ? 

But  what  saith  Zeus  ? 

"  Epictetus,  if  it  were  possible,  I 
would  have  made  both  this  thy  little 
body  and  thy  little  property  free  and 
unhampered.  But  now  forget  not  that 
this  is  but  finely  tempered  clay,  and 
nothing  of  thine  own.  And  since  I 
could  not  do  this,  I  have  given  thee  a 
part  of  ourselves,  this  power  of  desiring 
and  disliking  and  pursuing,  avoiding  and 
rejecting,  and,  in  brief,  the  use  of  appear- 
ances.     Have  a  care  then  of  this,  hold 


16 


17 


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WlMWWMlMwMWW 


IV. 

THE  NATURE  OF  THE  GOOD 

The  subject  for  the  good  and  wise 
man  is  his  own  master-faculty,  as  the 
body  is  for  the  physician  and  the  trainer, 
and  the  soil  is  the  subject  for  the  hus- 
bandman. And  the  work  of  the  good 
and  wise  man  is  to  use  appearances 
according  to  Nature.  For  it  is  the 
nature  of  every  soul  to  consent  to  what 
is  good  and  to  reject  what  is  evil,  and  to 
hold  back  about  what  is  uncertain ;  and 
thus  to  be  moved  to  pursue  the  good  and 
to  avoid  the  evil,  and  neither  way  toward 
what  is  neither  good  nor  evil.  For  as 
it  is  not  lawful  for  the  money-changer 
or  the  seller  of  herbs  to  reject  Caesar's 
coin,  but  if  one  present  it,  then,  whether 
he  will  or  no,  he  must  give  up  what  is 


18 


sold  for  it,  so  it  is  also  with  the  soul. 
When  the  Good  appears,  straightway 
the  soul  is  moved  toward  it  and  from 
the  Evil.  And  never  does  the  soul  re- 
ject any  clear  appearance  of  the  good, 
any  more  than  Caesar's  coin.  On  this 
hangs  every  movement  both  of  God  and 
man. 

The  nature  and  essence  of  the  Good 
is  in  a  certain  disposition  of  the  Will ; 
likewise  that  of  the  Evil. 

What  then  are  outward  things  ? 

Matter  for  the  Will,  about  which 
being  occupied  it  shall  attain  its  own 
good  or  evil.  How  shall  it  attain  the 
Good  ?  Through  not  being  dazzled 
with  admiration  of  what  it  works  on. 
For  our  opinions  of  this,  when  right, 
make  the  will  right,  and  when  wrong 
make  it  evil.  This  law  has  God  estab- 
lished, and  says,  "  If  thou  wouldst  have 
aught  of  good,  have  it  from  thyself." 


19 


L 


If  these  things  are  true  (and  if  we  are 
not  fools  or  hypocrites),  that  Good,  for 
man,  lies  in  the  Will,  and  likewise  Evil, 
and  all  other  things  are  nothing  to  us, 
why  are  we  still  troubled  ?  why  do  we 
fear  ?  The  things  for  which  we  have 
been  zealous  are  in  no  other  man's 
power;  and  for  the  things  that  are  in 
others'  power  we  are  not  concerned. 
And  why  shall  I  direct  thee  ?  has  not 
God  directed  thee  ?  has  he  not  given 
thee  that  which  is  thine  own  unhindered 
and  unhampered,  and  hindered  and 
hampered  that  which  is  not  thine  own  ? 
And  what  direction,  what  word  of  com- 
mand didst  thou  receive  from  him  when 
thou  earnest  thence  ? 

"  Hold  fast  everything  which  is  thine 
own  —  covet  not  that  which  is  alien  to 
thee.  And  faithfulness  is  thine,  and 
reverence  is  thine  :  who,  then,  can  rob 
thee  of  these  things  ?  who  can  hinder 
thee  from  using    them,  if  not   thyself? 


20 


21 


."•EX3ER 


THE  PROMISE  OF  PHILOSOPHY 


r)i 


Of  things  that  exist,  some  are  in  our 
own  power,  some  are  not  in  our  own 
power.  Of  things  that  are  in  our  own 
power  are  our  opinions,  impulses,  pur- 
suits, avoidances,  and,  in  brief,  all  that 
is  of  our  own  doing.  Of  things  that  are 
not  in  our  own  power  are  the  body, 
possessions,  reputation,  authority,  and, 
in  brief,  all  that  is  not  of  our  own  doing. 
And  the  things  that  are  in  our  own 
power  are  in  their  nature  free,  not  liable 
to  hindrance  or  embarrassment,  while 
the  things  that  are  not  in  our  own 
power  are  strengthless,  servile,  subject, 
alien. 

Remember,  then,  if  you  hold  things 
by  their  nature  subject  to  be  free,  and 


22 


things  alien  to  be  your  proper  concern, 
you  will  be  hampered,  you  will  lament, 
you  will  be  troubled,  you  will  blame 
Gods  and  men.  But  if  you  hold  that 
only  to  be  your  own  which  is  so,  and 
the  alien  for  what  it  is,  alien,  then  none 
shall  ever  compel  you,  none  shall  hinder 
you,  you  will  blame  no  one,  accuse  no 
one,  you  will  not  do  the  least  thing  un- 
willingly, none  shall  harm  you,  you  shall 
have  no  foe,  for  you  shall  suffer  no 
injury. 

Aiming,  then,  at  things  so  high,  re- 
member that  it  is  no  moderate  passion 
wherewith  you  must  attempt  them,  but 
some  things  you  must  utterly  renounce, 
and  put  some,  for  the  present,  aside. 
For  if,  let  us  say,  you  aim  also  at  this, 
to  rule  and  to  gather  riches,  then  you  are 
like,  through  aiming  at  the  chief  things 
also,  to  miss  these  lower  ends  ;  and  shall 
most  assuredly  miss  those  others,  through 
which  alone  freedom  and  happiness  are 


VK- 


sr 


rf 


23 


won.  Straightway,  then,  practise  saying 
to  every  harsh  appearance  —  Thou  art 
an  Appearance  and  not  at  all  the  thing 
thou  appearest  to  be.  Then  examine  it, 
and  prove  it  by  the  rules  you  have,  but 
first  and  above  all  by  this,  whether  it 
concern  something  that  is  in  our  own 
power,  or  something  that  is  not  in  our 
own  power.  And  if  the  latter,  then  be 
the  thought  at  hand  :  It  is  nothing  to  Me. 


24 


VI. 


THE  WAY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Every  art  is  wearisome,  in  the  learning 
of  it,  to  the  untaught  and  unskilled. 
Yet  things  that  are  made  by  the  arts 
immediately  declare  their  use,  and  for 
what  they  were  made,  and  in  most  of 
them  is  something  attractive  and  pleas- 
ing. 

Thus  when  a  shoemaker  is  learning 
his  trade  it  is  no  pleasure  to  stand  by 
and  observe  him,  but  the  shoe  is  useful, 
and  moreover  not  unpleasing  to  behold. 
The  learning  of  a  carpenter's  trade  is 
very  grievous  to  an  untaught  person 
who  happens  to  be  present,  but  the  work 
done  declares  the  need  of  the  art. 

But  far  more  is  this  seen  in  music,  for 
if  you  are  by  where  one  is  learning,  it 


25 


will  appear  the  most  painful  of  all  in- 
structions ;  but  that  which  is  produced 
by  the  musical  art  is  sweet  and  delightful 
to  hear,  even  to  those  who  are  untaught 
in  it.  And  here  we  conceive  the  work 
of  one  who  studies  philosophy  to  be 
some  such  thing,  that  he  must  fit  his 
desire  to  all  events,  so  that  nothing  may 
come  to  pass  against  our  will,  nor  may 
aught  fail  to  come  to  pass  that  we  wish 
for.  Whence  it  results  to  those  who  so 
order  it,  that  they  never  fail  to  obtain 
what  they  would,  or  to  avoid  what  they 
would  not,  living,  as  regards  themselves, 
without  pain,  fear,  or  trouble ;  and  as 
regards  their  fellows,  observing  all  the 
relations,  natural  and  acquired ;  as  son 
or  father,  or  brother  or  citizen,  or 
husband  or  wife,  or  neighbour  or  fellow- 
traveller,  or  prince  or  subject.  Such  we 
conceive  to  be  the  work  of  one  who 
pursues  philosophy.  And  next  we  must 
inquire  how  this  may  come  about. 


"*S 


26 


We  see,  then,  that  the  carpenter 
becomes  a  carpenter  by  learning  some- 
thing, and  by  learning  something  the 
pilot  becomes  a  pilot.  And  here  also  is 
it  not  on  this  wise  ?  Is  it  enough  that 
we  merely  wish  to  become  good  and 
wise,  or  must  we  not  also  learn  some- 
thing ?  We  inquire,  then,  what  we  have 
to  learn. 

The  philosophers  say  that,  before  all 
things,  it  is  needful  to  learn  that  God  is, 
and  takes  thought  for  all  things  ;  and 
that  nothing  can  be  hid  from  him,  neither 
deeds,  nor  even  thoughts  or  wishes ; 
thereafter,  of  what  nature  the  Gods  are. 
For  whatever  they  are  found  to  be,  he 
who  would  please  and  serve  them  must 
strive,  with  all  his  might,  to  be  like  them. 
If  the  Divine  is  faithful,  so  must  he  be 
faithful ;  if  free,  so  must  he  be  free ;  if 
beneficent,  so  must  he  be  beneficent ;  if 
high-minded,  so  must  he  be  high-minded  ; 
so  that  thus  emulating  God,  he  shall  both 


27 


£S" 


do  and  speak  the  things  that  follow 
therefrom. 

What  could  you  suppose  to  be  lack- 
ing to  you  ?  Wealth  you  have,  and 
children,  and  it  may  be  a  wife  and  many 
servants  ;  Caesar  knows  you,  you  have 
won  many  friends  in  Rome,  you  give 
every  man  his  due,  you  reward  with 
good  him  that  does  good  to  you,  and 
with  evil  him  that  does  evil.  What  is 
still  lacking  to  you  ? 

If,  now,  I  shall  show  you  that  you 
lack  the  greatest  and  most  necessary 
things  for  happiness,  and  that  to  this  day 
you  have  cared  for  everything  rather 
than  for  what  behoved  you ;  and  if  I 
crown  all  and  say  that  you  know  not 
what  God  is  nor  what  man  is,  nor  Good 
nor  Evil;  —  and  what  I  say  of  other 
things  is  perhaps  endurable,  but  if  I  say 
you  know  not  your  own  self,  how  can 
you  endure  me,  and  bear  the  accusation 
and  abide  here  ? 


'^NSS-gj^ 


28 


Never  —  but  straightway  you  will  go 
away  in  anger.  And  yet  what  evil  have 
I  done  you  ?  Unless  the  mirror  does  evil 
to  the  ill-favoured  man,  when  it  shows 
him  to  himself  such  as  he  is,  and  unless 
the  physician  is  thought  to  affront  the 
sick  man  when  he  may  say  to  him : 
Man,  dost  thou  think  thou  art  not  ailing  ? 
Thou  hast  a  fever :  fast  to-day  and  drink 
water.  And  none  says,  What  an  affront. 
But  if  one  shall  say  to  a  man  :  Thy  pur- 
suits are  inflamed,  thine  avoidances  are 
mean,  thy  purposes  are  lawless,  thy  im- 
pulses accord  not  with  nature,  thine 
opinions  are  vain  and  lying  —  straightway 
he  goeth  forth  and  says,  He  affronted 
me. 

We  follow  our  business  as  in  a  great 
fair.  Cattle  and  oxen  are  brought  to  be 
sold  ;  and  the  greater  part  of  the  men 
come  some  to  buy,  some  to  sell ;  and  few 
are  they  who  come  for  the  spectacle  of 
the  fair, —  how  it  comes  to    pass,  and 


fcftgMfa 


29 


wherefore,  and  who  are  they  who  have 
established  it,  and  to  what  end.  And  so 
it  is  here,  too,  in  this  assembly  of  life. 
Some,  indeed,  like  cattle,  concern  them- 
selves with  nothing  but  fodder ;  even 
such  as  those  that  care  for  possessions 
and  lands  and  servants  and  offices,  for 
these  are  nothing  more  than  fodder. 
But  few  are  they  who  come  to  the  fair 
for  love  of  the  spectacle,  what  the  world 
is  and  by  whom  it  is  governed.  By  no 
one  ?  And  how  is  it  possible  that  a 
state  or  a  house  cannot  endure,  no  not 
for  the  shortest  time,  without  a  governor 
and  overseer,  but  this  so  great  and  fair 
fabric  should  be  guided  thus  orderly  by 
chance  and  accident  ? 

There  is,  then,  one  who  governs. 
But  what  is  his  nature  ?  and  how  does  he 
govern  ?  and  we,  that  were  made  by  him, 
what  are  we,  and  for  what  are  we?  or 
have  we  at  least  some  intercourse  and 
link  with  him,  or  have  we  none  ?     Thus 


*»,*--  . 


■ » •  - « •  • 

•  •  «    »  -  V 

-•   V  m 


?p>&-.y  ■■■••■'•  f -•  -  X'-- 


30 


3i 


TO    THE     LEARNER 

Remember  that  pursuit  declares  the 
aim  of  attaining  the  thing  pursued,  and 
avoidance  that  of  not  falling  into  the 
thing  shunned  ;  and  he  who  fails  in  his 
pursuit  is  unfortunate,  and  it  is  mis- 
fortune to  fall  into  what  he  would  avoid. 
If  now  you  shun  only  those  things  in 
your  power  which  are  contrary  to 
Nature,  you  shall  never  fall  into  what 
you  would  avoid.  But  if  you  shun 
disease  or  death  or  poverty,  you  shall 
have  misfortune. 

No  great  thing  comes  suddenly  into 
being,  for  not  even  a  bunch  of  grapes 
can,  or  a  fig.  If  you  say  to  me  now  :  I 
desire  a  fig,  I  answer  that  there  is  need  of 
time :  let  it  first  of  all  flower  and  then 


32 


r> 


..-l'Vw 


bring  forth  the  fruit  and  then  ripen. 
When  the  fruit  of  a  fig-tree  is  not  per- 
fected at  once,  and  in  a  single  hour, 
would  you  win  the  fruit  of  a  man's  mind 
thus  quickly  and  easily  ?  Even  if  I  say 
to  you,  expect  it  not. 

To  fulfil  the  promise  of  a  man's  nature 
is  itself  no  common  thing.  For  what  is 
a  man  ?  A  living  creature,  say  you ; 
mortal,  and  endowed  with  Reason.  And 
from  what  are  we  set  apart  by  Reason  ? 
From  the  wild  beasts.  And  what  others  ? 
From  sheep  and  the  like.  Look  to  it, 
then,  that  you  do  nothing  like  a  wild 
beast,  for  if  you  do,  the  man  in  you 
perishes,  you  have  not  fulfilled  his  prom- 
ise. Look  to  it,  that  you  do  nothing 
like  a  sheep,  or  thus  too  the  man  has 
perished.  What,  then,  can  we  do  as 
sheep  ?  When  we  are  gluttonous,  sen- 
sual, reckless,  filthy,  thoughtless,  to  what 
are  we  then  sunken  ?  To  sheep.  What 
have  we  lost  ?     Our  faculty  of  Reason. 


33 


And  when  we  are  contentious,  and  hurt- 
ful, and  angry  and  violent,  to  what  are 
we  sunken  ?  To  wild  beasts.  And 
for  the  rest  some  of  us  are  great  wild 
beasts,  and  some  of  us  little  and  evil 
ones. 

Each  thing  is  increased  and  saved  by 
the  corresponding  works  —  the  carpenter 
by  the  practice  of  carpentry,  the  gram- 
marian by  the  study  of  grammar ;  but  if 
he  used  to  write  ungrammatically,  it  must 
needs  be  that  his  art  shall  be  corrupted 
and  destroyed.  Thus,  too,  the  works  of 
reverence  save  the  reverent  man,  and 
those  of  shamelessness  destroy  him.  And 
works  of  faithfulness  save  the  faithful 
man,  and  the  contrary  destroy  him. 
And  men  of  the  contrary  character  are 
strengthened  therein  by  contrary  deeds ; 
the  irreverent  by  irreverence,  the  faith- 
less by  faithlessness,  the  reviler  by  revil- 
ing, the  angry  by  anger,  the  avaricious 
by  unfair  giving  and  taking. 


34 


^ 


Every  great  power  is  perilous  to  be- 
ginners. You  must  bear  such  things 
according  to  your  strength.  But  I  must 
live  according  to  Nature  ?  That  is  not 
for  a  sick  man.  Lead  your  life  as  a 
sick  man  for  a  while,  so  that  you  may 
hereafter  live  it  as  a  whole  man.  Fast, 
drink  water,  abstain  for  a  while  from 
pursuit  of  every  kind,  in  order  that  you 
may  pursue  as  Reason  bids.  And  if  as 
Reason  bids,  then  when  you  have  aught 
of  good  in  you,  your  pursuit  shall  be 
well.  Nay,  but  we  would  live  as  sages 
and  do  good  to  men.  What  good  ? 
What  will  you  do  ?  Have  you  done 
good  to  yourself?  But  you  would  ex- 
hort them  ?  And  have  you  exhorted 
yourself?  You  would  do  them  good  — 
then  do  not  chatter  to  them,  but  show 
them  in  yourself  what  manner  of  men 
philosophy  can  make.  In  your  eating 
do  good  to  those  that  eat  with  you,  in 
your   drinking  to  those  that    drink,   by 


35 


36 


VIII. 


THE    CYNIC 


In  no  well-ordered  house  does  one 
come  in  and  say  to  himself:  I  should 
be  the  steward  of  the  house,  else,  when 
the  lord  of  the  house  shall  have  observed 
it,  and  see  him  insolently  giving  orders, 
he  will  drag  him  forth  and  chastise  him. 

So  it  is  also  in  this  great  city  of  the 
universe,  for  here  too  there  is  a  master 
of  the  house  who  ordereth  each  and  all : 
"  Thou  art  the  Sun ;  thy  power  is  to 
travel  round  and  to  make  the  year  and 
the  seasons,  and  to  increase  and  nourish 
fruits,  and  to  stir  the  winds  and  still 
them,  and  temperately  to  warm  the 
bodies  of  men.  Go  forth,  run  thy 
course,  and  minister  thus  to  the  greatest 
things  and  to  the  least.    Thou  art  a  calf; 


■■  ,i:fu'*x-i 


fSSwA*. 


ter 


?&*j 


!&*"*? 


37 


when  a  lion  shall  appear,  do  what  befits 
thee,  or  it  shall  be  worse  for  thee.  Thou 
art  a  bull ;  come  forth  and  fight,  for 
this  is  thy  part  and  pride,  and  this  thou 
canst.  Thou  art  able  to  lead  the  army 
against  Ilion ;  be  Agamemnon.  Thou 
canst  fight  in  single  combat  with  Hector  ; 
be  Achilles.  But  if  Thersites  come  forth 
and  pretend  to  the  authority,  then  either 
he  would  not  gain  it,  or,  gaining  it,  he 
would  be  shamed  before  many  witnesses." 
And  as  to  being  a  Cynic,  take  thought 
upon  it  earnestly,  for  it  is  not  such  as  it 
seems  to  you.  I  wear  a  rough  cloak 
now,  and  I  shall  wear  it  then  ;  I  sleep 
hard  now,  and  I  shall  sleep  so  then.  I 
will  take  to  myself  a  wallet  and  staff, 
and  I  will  begin  to  go  about  and  beg, 
and  to  reprove  everyone  I  meet  with  ; 
and  if  I  shall  see  one  that  plucks  out  his 
hairs,  I  will  censure  him,  or  one  that 
has  his  hair  curled,  or  that  goes  in  pur- 
ple raiment.     If  you  conceive  the  matter 


38 


on  this  wise,  far  be  it  from  you  —  go 
not  near  it,  it  is  not  for  you.  But  if 
you  conceive  of  it  as  it  is,  and  hold 
yourself  not  unworthy  of  it,  then  behold 
to  how  great  an  enterprise  you  are  put- 
ting forth  your  hand. 

First,  in  things  that  concern  yourself, 
you  must  appear  in  nothing  like  what 
you  now  do.  You  must  not  accuse  God 
or  man  ;  you  must  utterly  give  over  pur- 
suit, and  avoid  only  those  things  that  are 
in  the  power  of  your  will ;  anger  is  not 
meet  for  you,  nor  resentment,  nor  envy, 
nor  pity  ;  nor  must  a  girl  appear  to  you 
fair,  neither  must  reputation,  nor  a  flat 
cake.  For  it  must  be  understood  that 
other  men  shelter  themselves  by  walls 
and  houses  and  by  darkness  when  they 
do  such  things,  and  many  means  of  con- 
cealment have  they.  One  shuts  the 
door,  places  someone  before  the  cham- 
ber; if  anyone  should  come,  say,  He  is 
out,  he  is  busy. 


-«d 


..,*■» 


39 


But  in  place  of  all  these  things  it  be- 
hoves the  Cynic  to  shelter  himself  behind 
his  own  piety  and  reverence  ;  but  if  he 
does  not,  he  shall  be  put  to  shame,  naked 
under  the  sky.  This  is  his  house,  this 
his  door,  this  the  guards  of  his  chamber, 
this  his  darkness.  For  he  must  not 
seek  to  hide  aught  that  he  does,  else  he 
is  gone,  the  Cynic  has  perished,  the  man 
who  lived  under  the  open  sky,  the  free- 
man. He  has  begun  to  fear  something 
from  without,  he  has  begun  to  need  con- 
cealment ;  nor  can  he  find  it  when  he 
would,  for  where  shall  he  hide  himself, 
and  how  ?  And  if  by  chance  this  tutor, 
this  public  teacher,  should  be  found  in 
guilt,  what  things  must  he  not  suffer  ! 
And  fearing  these  things,  can  he  yet 
take  heart  with  his  whole  soul  to  guide 
the  rest  of  mankind  ?  That  can  he 
never  :   it  is  impossible  ! 

First,  then,  you  must  purify  your  rul- 
ing faculty,  and  this  vocation  of  yours 


40 


T 


^ 


\\3R 


_L 


also,  saying  :  "  Now  it  is  my  mind  I 
must  shape,  as  the  capenter  shapes  wood 
and  the  shoemaker  leather ;  and  the 
thing  to  be  formed  is  a  right  use  of  ap- 
pearances. But  nothing  to  me  is  the 
body,  and  nothing  to  me  the  parts  of  it. 
Death  ?  Let  it  come  when  it  will,  either 
death  of  the  whole  or  of  a  part.  Flee 
it !  And  whither  ?  Can  any  man  cast 
me  out  of  the  universe  ?  He  cannot ; 
but  whithersoever  I  may  go  there  will 
be  the  sun,  and  the  moon,  and  there  the 
stars,  and  visions,  and  omens,  and  com- 
munion with  the  Gods." 

And,  furthermore,  when  he  has  thus 
fashioned  himself,  he  who  is  a  Cynic 
indeed  will  not  be  content  with  these 
things.  But  know  that  he  is  an  herald 
from  God  to  men,  declaring  to  them  the 
truth  about  good  and  evil  things  ;  that 
they  have  erred,  and  are  seeking  the 
reality  of  good  and  evil  where  it  is  not  ; 
and  where  it   is,  they  do  not  consider  ; 


41 


and  he  is  a  spy,  like  Diogenes,  when  he 
was  led  captive  to  Philip  after  the  battle 
of  Chaeronea.  For  the  Cynic  is,  in 
truth,  a  spy  of  the  things  that  are  friendly 
to  men,  and  that  are  hostile ;  and  hav- 
ing closely  spied  out  all,  he  must  come 
back  and  declare  the  Truth.  And  he 
must  neither  be  stricken  with  terror  and 
report  of  enemies  where  none  are ;  nor 
be  in  any  otherwise  confounded  or 
troubled  by  the  appearances. 

He  must  then  be  able,  if  so  it  chance, 
to  go  up  impassioned,  as  on  the  tragic 
stage,  and  speak  that  word  of  Socrates, 
"  O  men,  whither  are  you  borne  away  ? 
What  do  you  ?  Miserable  !  like  blind 
men  you  wander  up  and  down.  You 
have  left  the  true  road,  and  are  going  by 
a  false ;  you  are  seeking  peace  and  hap- 
piness where  they  are  not,  and  if  another 
shall  show  you  where  they  are,  you  be- 
lieve him  not.  Wherefore  will  you  seek 
it  in  outward  things  ? 


r- 


>v 


42 


C4 


In  the  body  ?  It  is  not  there  —  and 
if  you  believe  me  not,  lo,  Myro  !  lo, 
Ophellius. 

"  In  possessions  ?  It  is  not  there,  and 
if  you  believe  me  not,  lo,  Croesus  !  lo, 
the  wealthy  of  our  own  day,  how  full  of 
mourning  is  their  life  ! 

"  In  authority  ?  It  is  not  there,  else 
should  those  be  happy  who  have  been 
twice  or  thrice  consul ;  yet  they  are  not. 
Whom  shall  we  believe  in  this  matter  ? 
You,  who  look  on  these  men  but  from 
without,  and  are  dazzled  by  the  appear- 
ance, or  the  men  themselves  ?  And  what 
say  they  ?  Hearken  to  them  when  they 
lament,  when  they  groan,  when  by  reason 
of  those  consulships,  and  their  glory  and 
renown,  they  hold  their  state  the  more 
full  of  misery  and  danger  ! 

"  In  royalty  ?  It  is  not  there  ;  else 
were  Nero  happy,  and  Sardanapalus ; 
but  not  Agamemnon  himself  was  happy, 
more  splendid  though  he  was  than  Nero 


43 


or  Sardanapalus  ;  but  while  the  rest  are 
snoring  what  is  he  doing  ? 

"  He  tore  his  rooted  hair  by  handfuls  out." 


And  what  does  he  himself 


say 


"  I  am  distraught,"  he  says,  "  and  I 
am  in  anguish  ;  my  heart  leaps  forth  from 
my  bosom."  Miserable  man  !  which  of 
your  concerns  has  gone  wrong  ?  Your 
wealth  ?  No.  Your  body  ?  No  ;  but  you 
are  rich  in  gold  and  bronze.  What  ails 
you  then  ? 

That  part,  whatever  it  be,  with  which 
we  pursue,  with  which  we  avoid,  with 
which  we  desire  and  dislike,  you  have 
neglected  and  corrupted.  How  has  it 
been  neglected  ?  He  has  been  ignorant 
of  the  true  Good  for  which  it  was  born, 
and  of  the  Evil ;  and  of  what  is  his  own, 
and  what  is  alien  to  him.  And  when  it 
goes  ill  with  something  that  is  alien  to 
him,  he  says,  "  Woe  is  me,  for  the 
Greeks  are  in  peril." 


r»* 


44 


0  unhappy  mind  !  of  all  things  alone 
neglected  and  untended.  They  will  be 
slain  by  the  Trojans  and  die  !  And  if 
the  Trojans  slay  them  not,  will  they  not 
still  die  ?     Yea,  but  not  all  together. 

What,  then,  does  it  matter  ?  for  if  it 
be  an  evil  to  die,  it  is  alike  evil  to  die 
together  or  to  die  one  by  one.  Shall 
anything  else  happen  to  them  than  the 
parting  of  body  and  soul  ? 

Nothing. 

And  when  the  Greeks  have  perished, 
is  the  door  closed  to  you  ?  can  you  not 
also  die  ? 

1  can. 

Wherefore,  then,  do  you  lament :  Woe 
is  me,  a  king,  and  bearing  the  sceptre  of 
Zeus  ?  There  is  no  unfortunate  king, 
as  there  is  no  unfortunate  God.  What, 
then,  are  you  ?  In  very  truth  a  shep- 
herd ;  for  you  lament  even  as  shepherds 
do  when  a  wolf  has  snatched  away 
one  of  the  sheep ;   and    sheep    are    they 


45 


whom  you  rule.  And  why  are  you  come 
hither  ?  Was  your  faculty  of  pursuit  in 
any  peril,  or  of  avoidance,  or  your  desire 
aversion  ? 

Nay,  he  says,  but  my  brother's  wife 
was  carried  away.  Was  it  not  a  great 
gain  to  be  rid  of  an  adulterous  wife  ? 
Shall  we  be,  then,  despised  of  the  Tro- 
jans ?  Of  the  Trojans  ?  Of  what 
manner  of  men  ?  of  wise  men  or  fools  ? 
If  of  wise  men,  why  do  you  make  war 
with  them  ?  if  of  fools,  why  do  you  heed 
them  ? 

In  what,  then,  is  the  good,  seeing  that 
in  these  things  it  is  not  ?  Tell  us,  thou, 
my  lord  missionary  and  spy  ! 

It  is  ihere  where  ye  deem  it  not,  and 
where  ye  have  no  desire  to  seek  it.  For 
did  you  desire,  you  would  have  found  it 
in  yourselves,  nor  would  you  wander  to 
things  without,  nor  pursue  things  alien, 
as  if  they  were  your  own  concerns. 
Turn  to   your   own   selves ;  understand 


.*re> 


46 


the  natural  conceptions  which  you  pos- 
sess. What  kind  of  thing  do  you  take 
the  Good  to  be  ?  Peace  ?  happiness  ? 
freedom  ?  Come,  then,  do  you  not 
naturally  conceive  it  as  great,  as  precious, 
and  as  incapable  of  being  harmed  ?  What 
kind  of  material,  then,  will  you  take  to 
shape  peace  and  freedom  withal  —  that 
which  is  enslaved  or  in  that  which  is  free  ? 

That  which  is  free. 

Have  you  the  flesh  enslaved  or  free  ? 

We  know  not. 

Know  you  not  that  it  is  the  slave  of 
fever,  of  gout,  of  ophthalmia,  of  dysen- 
tery, of  tyranny,  and  fire,  and  steel,  and 
everything  that  is  mightier  than   itself? 

Yea,  it  is  enslaved. 

How,  then,  can  aught  that  is  of  the 
body  be  free  ?  and  how  can  that  be  great 
or  precious  which  by  nature  is  dead, 
mere  earth  or  mud  ? 

What  then  ?  have  you  nothing  that  is 
free  ? 


'..,■■!-.- -uy,! 


iij** 


47 


It  may  be  nothing. 

And  who  can  compel  you  to  assent  to 
an  appearance  that  is  false  ? 

No  man. 

And  who  can  compel  you  not  to 
assent  to  an  appearance  that  is  true  ? 

No  man. 

Here,  then,  you  see  that  there  is  in 
you  something  that  is  by  nature  free. 
But  which  of  you,  except  he  lay  hold  of 
some  appearance  of  the  profitable,  or  of 
the  becoming,  can  either  pursue  or  avoid, 
or  desire  or  dislike,  or  adopt  or  intend 
anything  ? 

No  man. 

In  these  things  too,  then,  you  have 
something  that  is  unhindered  and  free. 
This,  miserable  men,  must  you  per- 
fect ;  this  have  a  care  to,  in  this  seek  for 
the  Good. 

And  how  is  it  possible  that  one  can 
live  prosperously  who  has  nothing ;  a 
naked,    homeless,    hearthless,    beggarly 


48 


man,  without  servants,  without  a  coun- 
try ? 

Lo,  God  hath  sent  you  a  man  to  show 
you  in  very  deed  that  it  is  possible. 

Behold  me,  that  I  have  neither  coun- 
try, nor  house,  nor  possessions,  nor  serv- 
ants ;  I  sleep  on  the  ground ;  nor  is  a 
wife  mine,  nor  children,  nor  domicile, 
but  only  earth  and  heaven,  and  a  single 
cloak.  And  what  is  lacking  to  me  ?  do 
I  ever  grieve  ?  do  I  fear  ?  am  I  not  free  ? 
When  did  any  of  you  see  me  fail  of  my 
pursuit,  or  meet  with  what  I  had  avoided  ? 
When  did  I  blame  God  or  man  ?  When 
did  I  accuse  any  man  ?  When  did  any  of 
you  see  me  of  a  sullen  countenance  ? 
How  do  I  meet  those  whom  you  fear 
and  marvel  at  ?  Do  I  not  treat  them  as 
my  slaves  ?  Who  that  sees  me,  but 
thinks  he  beholds  his  king  and  his  lord  ? 

So  these  are  the  accents  of  the  Cynic, 
this  his  character,  this  his  design.  Not 
so  —  but  it  is  his  bag,  and  his  staff,  and 


49 


his  great  jaws ;  and  to  devour  all  that  is 
given  to  him,  or  store  it  up,  or  to  reprove 
out  of  season  everyone  that  he  may 
meet,  or  to  wear  his  cloak  half  off  his 
shoulder. 

Do  you  see  how  you  are  about  to 
take  in  hand  sc  great  a  matter  ?  First 
take  a  mirror,  look  on  your  shoulders, 
mark  well  your  loins  and  thighs.  You 
are  about  to  enter  your  name  for  the 
Olympic  games,  O  man ;  no  cold  and 
paltry  contest.  Nor  can  you  then  be 
merely  overcome  and  then  depart ;  but 
first  you  must  be  shamed  in  the  sight  of 
all  the  world ;  and  not  alone  of  the 
Athenians  or  Lacedaemonians,  or  Nico- 
politans.  And  then  if  you  have  too 
rashly  entered  upon  the  contest,  you 
must  be  thrashed,  and  before  being 
thrashed  must  suffer  thirst  and  scorching 
heat,  and  swallow  much  dust. 

Consider  more  closely,  know  yourself, 
question   your  genius,   attempt    nothing 


5° 


Jtt 


without  God ;  who,  if  he  counsel  you, 
be  sure  he  wills  you  either  to  be  great 
or  to  be  greatly  plagued.  For  this  very 
agreeable  circumstance  is  linked  with  the 
calling  of  a  Cynic ;  he  must  be  flogged 
like  an  ass,  and,  being  flogged,  must  love 
those  who  flog  him,  as  if  he  were  the 
father  or  brother  of  all  mankind.  Not 
so,  but  if  one  shall  flog  you,  stand  in  the 
midst  and  shriek  out,  O  Caesar,  what 
things  do  I  suffer  in  the  Emperor's 
peace  !  Let  us  take  him  before  the  pro- 
consul. 

But  what  is  Caesar  to  the  Cynic  ?  or 
what  is  a  pro-consul  ?  or  what  is  any 
other  than  He  that  has  sent  him  hither, 
and  whom  he  serves,  which  is  Zeus  ? 
Does  he  call  on  any  other  than  God  ? 
Is  he  not  persuaded,  whatever  things  he 
may  suffer,  that  he  is  being  trained  and 
exercised  by  God  ?  Heracles,  when  he 
was  exercised  by  Eurystheus,  never 
deemed  himself  wretched ;  but    fulfilled 


■v  ,_,  i'.'j". — r- 


r.  t:-- 


I-,  a. 


«    »:■-■■■ 


51 


:jaas*>«*&Mn. 


courageously  all  that  was  laid  upon  him. 
But  he  who  shall  cry  out  and  bear  it 
hard  when  he  is  being  trained  and  exer- 
cised by  Zeus,  is  he  worthy  to  bear  the 
sceptre  of  Diogenes  ?  Hear  what  Diog- 
enes says,  when  ill  of  a  fever,  to  the  by- 
standers :  Base  souls,  will  ye  not  remain  ? 
To  see  the  overthrow  and  combat  of 
athletes,  how  great  a  way  you  journey  to 
Olympia ;  and  have  you  no  will  to  see  a 
combat  between  a  fever  and  a  man  ? 

And  will  such  an  one  presently  accuse 
God  who  has  sent  him,  as  having  used 
him  ill  —  he  who  was  glorying  in  his  lot, 
and  held  himself  worthy  to  be  a  spec- 
tacle to  the  bystanders  ?  For  of  what 
shall  he  accuse  Him :  that  his  life  is 
seemly,  that  he  manifests  God's  will, 
that  he  shows  forth  his  virtue  more 
brightly  ?  Come,  then  ;  and  what  says 
he  about  death,  about  pain  ?  How  did 
he  compare  his  own  happiness  with  that 
of   the    Great   King  ?    nay,    he   thought 


52 


rather  that  there  was  no  comparison. 
For  where  there  are  confusions  and  griefs 
and  fears  and  unattained  pursuits  and 
avoidance  in  vain  and  envy  and  rivalry 
can  the  way  to  happiness  lie  there  ?  But 
where  rotten  opinions  are  there  must  of 
necessity  be  all  these  things. 

And  the  young  man  having  asked 
whether  one  that  has  fallen  ill  shall 
obey,  if  a  friend  desire  that  he  will  go 
home  with  him  and  be  tended  :  Where, 
he  said,  will  you  show  me  the  friend  of 
a  Cynic  ?  For  he  himself  must  be  even 
such  another,  so  as  to  be  worthy  to  be 
reckoned  his  friend.  A  sharer  in  the 
sceptre  and  the  royalty  must  he  be,  and 
a  worthy  servant,  if  he  will  be  worthy 
of  his  friendship,  as  Diogenes  was  of 
Antisthenes  and  Crates  of  Diogenes. 
Or  seems  it  so  to  you  that  whoever 
shall  come  to  him  and  bid  him  hail  is 
his  friend  ?  and  that  he  will  think  him 
worthy    that    a    Cynic    shall    go   to   his 


53 


house  ?  Thus,  if  it  please  you  to  be  a 
Cynic,  bethink  you  rather  of  such  a 
thing  as  this,  and  cast  about  for  a  dainty 
dungheap  whereon  to  have  your  fever ; 
and  see  that  it  look  away  from  the  north, 
so  that  you  be  not  chilled.  But  you 
seem  to  me  to  wish  to  retreat  into  some- 
body's house  and  spend  your  time  there, 
and  be  fed.  What  have  you  to  do  with 
undertaking  so  great  a  matter  ? 

But  marriage,  said  he,  and  the  beget- 
ting of  children,  —  are  these  to  be  re- 
ceived by  the  Cynic  among  his  chief 
purposes  ? 

Give  me,  said  Epictetus,  a  city  of 
wise  men,  and  perhaps  no  one  will  easily 
come  to  the  Cynic  way  :  for  whose  sake 
should  he  embrace  it  ?  However,  if  we 
do  suppose  such  a  thing,  there  is  nothing 
to  hinder  his  marrying  and  begetting 
children  ;  for  his  wife  will  be  even  such 
another,  and  his  father-in-law  such  an- 
other,   and    thus    will    his    children    be 


54 


brought   up.      But  things  being  as  they 
now  are,  as  it  were   in  order  of  battle, 
must  not  the  Cynic  be  given  wholly  and 
undistracted  to  the  service  of  God,  being 
able  to  go  about  among   men,  and   not 
bound   to  private  duties,   nor   entangled 
in  ties  which,  if  he  transgress,  he  can  no 
longer  preserve  the  aspect  of  honesty  and 
goodness ;  and  if  he  obey  them,  he  has 
lost  that  of  the  missionary,  the  spy,  the 
herald  of  the  Gods  ?      For  see  !    he  must 
needs  observe  a  certain  conduct   toward 
his  father-in-law,  and  he  has  somewhat 
to  render  also  to  the  rest  of  his  wife's 
kin  and  to  his  wife  herself.      And  for  the 
rest,  he  is  shut  off  from  Cynism  by  the 
care  for  sickness,  or  means  of  livelihood. 
For  one   thing  alone,   he    must   have  a 
vessel  for  warming  water  for  his   little 
child,  where  he  may  wash  it  in  the  bath ; 
and  wool  for  his  wife  when  she  has  been 
delivered,  and  oil  and   a    couch,  and   a 
drinking    cup  —  already    a    number    of 


55 


utensils  —  and  other  affairs  and  distrac- 
tions. Where  shall  I  thenceforth  find 
that  king,  whose  whole  business  is  the 
common  weal  ? 

"  Warden  of  men,  and  with  so  many  cares," 

on  whom  it  lies  to  oversee  all  men,  the 
married,  and  parents,  and  who  uses  his 
wife  well,  and  who  ill,  and  who  wrangles, 
and  what  household  is  well-ordered,  and 
what  not ;  going  about  as  a  physician  and 
feeling  pulses  —  "  you  have  a  fever,  you 
a  headache,  you  the  gout ;  do  you  fast,  do 
you  eat,  do  you  avoid  the  bath,  you  need 
the  knife,  you  the  cautery  ?  " 

Where  is  the  place  for  leisure  to  one 
who  is  bound  to  private  duties  ?  Must 
he  not  provide  raiment  for  his  children  ? 
yea,  and  send  them  to  the  schoolmaster 
with  their  tablets  and  writing  instru- 
ments ?  and  have  a  bed  ready  for  them, 
since  a  man  cannot  be  a  Cynic  from  the 
womb  ?   Else  were  it  better  to  cast  them 


56 


away  at  once  than  kill  them  in  this  way. 
See,  now,  to  what  we  have  brought  our 
Cynic  —  how  we  have  taken  away  his 
kingship  from  him ! 

True,  but  Crates  married. 

You  speak  of  a  circumstance  that 
arose  from  love,  and  adduce  a  wife  who 
was  another  Crates.  But  our  inquiry  is 
concerning  common  marriages,  and  how 
men  may  be  undistracted ;  and  thus  in- 
quiring, we  do  not  find  it,  in  this  condi- 
tion of  the  world,  a  purpose  of  chief 
concern  for  a  Cynic. 

How,  then,  said  he,  shall  he  still  be 
preserving  the  community  ?  God  help 
you  !  Whether  do  they  best  serve  man- 
kind who  fill  their  own  place  by  bringing 
into  the  world  two  or  three  screaming 
children,  or  those  who,  as  far  they  may, 
oversee  all  men,  what  they  do,  how  they 
live,  wherefore  they  concern  themselves, 
and  what  duties  they  neglect  ?  And 
were  the  Thebans  more  benefited  by  as 


6-.l->£3 


57 


^m 


wflSfl 


v«ff 


»5Si 


many  as  left  their  little  children  behind, 
or  by  Epaminondas,  who  died  childless  ? 
And  did  Priam,  who  begat  fifty  good-for- 
nothing  sons,  or  Danaus,  or  iEolus, 
better  serve  the  community  than  Homer  ? 

Shall,  then,  the  command  of  an  army 
or  the  writing  of  poems  withdraw  a  man 
from  marriage  and  fatherhood,  and  he 
shall  not  be  thought  to  have  gained  noth- 
ing for  his  childlessness,  but  the  kingship 
of  a  Cynic  shall  be  not  worth  what  it 
costs  ? 

It  may  be  we  do  not  perceive  his 
greatness,  nor  do  we  worthily  conceive 
of  the  character  of  Diogenes ;  but  we 
turn  away  our  eyes  to  the  present  Cynics, 
"  watch-dogs  of  the  dining-room,"  as  Ho- 
mer said,  who  in  nothing  resemble  those 
others,  save  perchance  in  breaking  wind  ; 
but  in  no  other  thing.  For  else  these 
things  would  not  have  moved  us,  nor 
should  we  have  marvelled  if  a  Cynic  will 
not  marry  or  beget  children.    Man  !    he 


58 


6V 


has  begotten  all  mankind,  he  has  all  men 
for  his  sons,  all  women  for  his  daughters  ; 
so  he  visits  all  and  cares  for  all.  Think 
you  that  he  is  a  mere  meddler  and  busy- 
body in  rebuking  those  whom  he  meets  ? 
As  a  father  he  does  it,  as  a  brother,  and 
as  servant  of  the  Universal  Father,  who 
is  God. 

If  it  please  you,  ask  of  me  also 
whether  he  shall  have  to  do  with  affairs 
of  public  polity  ? 

Fool !  do  you  seek  a  greater  polity 
than  that  in  whose  affairs  he  is  already 
concerned  ?  Will  it  be  greater  if  he 
come  forward  among  the  Athenians  to 
say  something  about  ways  or  means  — 
he,  whose  part  it  is  to  discourse  with  all 
men,  Athenians,  Corinthians,  Romans 
alike,  not  concerning  means  or  ways,  or 
concerning  peace  or  war,  but  about  happi- 
ness and  unhappiness,  about  good-for- 
tune, and  ill-fortune,  about  slavery  and 
freedom  ?     And  of  a  man  that  has  his 


59 


JA\ 


.-'•-. 


L. 


part  in  so  great  a  polity  will  you  ask  me 
if  he  shall  attend  to  public  affairs  ?  Ask 
me  also  if  he  small  be  a  ruler ;  and  again 
I  shall  say,  You  fool,  what  rule  can  be 
greater  than  his  ? 

And  to  such  a  man  there  is  need  also 
of  a  certain  kind  of  body.  For  if  he 
shall  appear  consumptive,  meagre,  and 
pale,  his  witness  has  not  the  same 
emphasis.  Not  only  by  showing  forth 
the  things  of  the  spirit  must  he  con- 
vince foolish  men  that  it  is  possible, 
without  the  things  that  are  admired  of 
them,  to  be  good  and  wise,  but  also  in 
his  body  must  he  show  that  plain  and 
simple  and  open-air  living  are  not  mis- 
chievous even  to  the  body :  "  Behold, 
even  of  this  I  am  a  witness,  I  and  my 
body." 

So  Diogenes  was  wont  to  do,  for  he 
went  about  radiant  with  health,  and  with 
his  very  body  he  turned  many  to  good. 
But  a  Cynic  that  men  pity  seems  to  be 


SCSd 


60 


a  beggar  —  all  men  turn  away  from  him, 
all  stumble  at  him.  For  he  must  not 
appear  squalid ;  so  that  neither  in  this 
respect  shall  he  scare  men  away  ;  but  his 
very  austerity  should  be  cleanly  and 
pleasing. 

Much  grace  of  body,  then,  must  be- 
long to  the  Cynic,  and  also  quickness  of 
mind,  else  he  is  a  mere  clot  of  slime  and 
nothing  else ;  for  he  must  be  ready  and 
apt  to  meet  all  that  may  befall  him. 

Thus  when  one  said  to  Diogenes : 
You  are  that  Diogenes  who  thinks 
there  are  no  Gods,  he  replied,  And  how 
may  that  be,  seeing  I  hold  you  hateful 
to  the  Gods  ?  And  again,  when  Alex- 
ander stood  beside  him,  as  he  was  lying 
asleep,  and  said  : 

"  Not  all  night  must  a  man  of  counsel  sleep," 

he  answered,  ere  he  was  yet  awake : 

'*  Warden  of  men,  and  with  so  many  cares." 

w <  ill      V 

61 


r)t 


~A 


But  before  all  things  must  his  ruling 
faculty  be  purer  than  the  sun,  else  he 
must  needs  be  a  gambler  and  cheater, 
who,  being  himself  entangled  in  some 
iniquity,  will  reprove  others.  For,  see 
how  the  matter  stands  :  to  these  kings 
and  tyrants,  their  spearmen  and  their 
arms  give  the  office  of  reproving  men, 
and  the  power  to  punish  transgressors, 
yea,  though  they  themselves  be  evil ; 
but  to  the  Cynic,  instead  of  arms  and 
spearmen,  his  conscience  gives  this  power. 
When  he  knows  that  he  has  watched  and 
laboured  for  men,  and  lain  down  to  sleep 
in  purity,  and  sleep  has  left  him  yet 
purer;  and  that  his  thoughts  have  been 
the  thoughts  of  one  dear  to  the  Gods,  of 
a  servant,  and  a  sharer  in  the  rule  of 
Zeus  ;  and  he  hath  had  ever  at  hand  that 
line  of  Cleanthes, 


Lead  me,  O  Zeus,  and  thou  Destiny," 


and, 


u»*»-JJ| 


62 


" If  thus  it  be  pleasing  to  the  Gods,  so  may 
it  be  "  — 

wherefore,  then,  shall  he  not  take  heart 
to  speak  boldly  to  his  brothers,  to  his 
children,  in  a  word,  to  all  his  kin  ?  For 
this  reason,  he  that  in  this  state  is  no 
meddler  or  busybody,  for  when  he  over- 
looks human  affairs  he  meddles  not  with 
foreign  matters,  but  with  his  own  affairs. 
Else,  name  the  general  a  busybody  when 
he  overlooks  his  soldiers,  and  reviews 
them,  and  watches  them,  and  punishes 
the  disorderly.  But  if  you  have  a  flat 
cake  under  your  coat  while  you  reprove 
others,  I  say,  get  hence  rather  into  a 
corner,  and  eat  what  you  have  stolen  — 
what  are  other  men's  concerns  to  you  ? 
For  what  are  you  —  the  bull  of  the  herd  ? 
or  the  queen  bee  ?  Show  me  the  tokens 
of  your  supremacy,  such  as  nature  has 
given  her.  But  if  you  are  a  drone 
claiming  sovereignty  over  the  bees, 
think  you  not  that  your  fellow-citizens 


63 


will  overthrow  you,  as  bees  do  the 
drones  ? 

And  truly  the  Cynic  must  be  so  long- 
suffering  as  that  he  shall  seem  to  the 
multitude  insensate  and  a  stone.  None 
reviles  him  or  smites  him  or  insults 
him  ;  but  his  body  has  he  given  to  any 
man  to  use  at  will.  For  he  remembers 
that  the  worse  must  needs  be  vanquished 
by  the  better,  whereinsoever  it  is  the 
worse  ;  and  the  body  is  worse  than  the 
multitude — the  weaker  than  the  stronger. 
Never,  then,  does  he  go  down  to  any  con- 
test where  it  is  possible  for  him  to  be 
vanquished,  but  he  yields  up  all  that  is 
not  his  own,  and  contends  for  nothing 
that  is  subject  to  others.  But  where 
there  is  question  of  the  will  and  the  use 
of  appearances,  then  you  shall  see  how 
many  eyes  he  has,  so  that  you  may  say 
that  compared  with  him  Argus  was 
blind. 

Is  his  assent  ever  hasty ;  or  his  desire 


64 


idle  ;  or  his  pursuit  in  vain ;  or  his  avoid- 
ance unsuccessful ;  or  his  aim  unful- 
filled ?  does  he  ever  blame,  or  cringe,  or 
envy  ?  This  is  his  great  study  and  his 
design  ;  but  as  regards  all  other  things, 
he  lies  on  his  back  and  snores,  for  all  is 
peace.  There  is  no  thief  of  his  will, 
or  tyrant ;  but  of  his  body  ?  yea ;  and 
of  his  chattels  ?  yea,  and  also  of  his 
authority  and  his  honours. 

What,  then,  are  these  things  to  him  ? 
So  when  one  may  seek  to  make  him 
afraid  on  account  of  them,  —  Go  hence, 
he  says  to  him,  and  find  out  little 
children ;  to  these  are  masks  dread- 
ful, but  I  know  they  are  made  of 
clay,  and  that  inside  them  there  is  noth- 
ing. 

On  such  a  matter  are  you  now  medi- 
tating. Therefore,  if  it  please  you,  in 
God's  name  delay  it  yet  awhile,  and  see 
first  what  ability  you  have  for  it.  For 
mark   what    Hector    speaks    to    Andro- 


65 


mache :     Go,   he    says,   rather   into   the 
house  and  weave  — 

"For  war  's  the  care 
Of  every  man,  and  more  than  all  't  is  mine." 

Thus  he  knew  where  lay  his  own  ability 
and  her  incapacity. 


■•':'•.'■'■  •"•If         ^S=^ 

V^3J 

•  vvmSBS ■ ,'  •  ■      • '  .X .»*  J  • 

^-4:/<^S 

66 


ON    GENUINE    AND    BORROWED    BELIEFS 


The  master  argument  seems  to  start 
from  propositions  such  as  these  :  — 
There  being  a  mutual  contradiction 
among  these  three  propositions  — 

(i)  "Every  past  event  is  necessarily 
true,"  and 

(2)  "  An  impossibility  cannot  follow 
a  possibility,"  and 

(3)  "  Things  are  possible  which 
neither   are   nor  will   be   true." 

Diodorus,  perceiving  this  contradic- 
tion, made  use  of  the  force  of  the  first 
two  in  order  to  prove  that  nothing  is 
possible  which  neither  is  nor  will  be 
true.  And,  again,  one  will  hold  these 
two,  (3)  that  a  thing  is  possible  which 


67 


/%l          _ 

\>^^\\  aV/  //JK*& 

neither  is  nor  will  be  true,  and  (2)  that 
an  impossibility  cannot  follow  from  a 
possibility ;  but  by  no  means  that  every 
past  thing  is  necessarily  true,  and  thus 
those  of  the  school  of  Cleanthes  appear 
to  think,  whom  Antipater  strongly  de- 
fended. 

But  some  hold  the  other  two,  (3)  that 
a  thing  is  possible  that  neither  is  nor 
will  be  true,  and  (1)  that  every  past 
event  is  necessarily  true  ;  but  maintain 
that  an  impossibility  may  follow  from  a 
possibility.  But  all  three  it  is  impossible 
to  hold  at  once,  because  of  their  mutual 
contradiction. 

Now,  if  anyone  inquire  of  me,  And 
which  of  these  do  you  hold  ?  I  shall  an- 
swer him  that  I  do  not  know,  but  I 
have  received  this  account,  that  Diodorus 
holds  certain  of  them,  and  I  think  the 
followers  of  Panthoides  and  Cleanthes 
certain  others,  and  those  of  Chrysippus 
yet  others. 

*                                                            ^^fcs^eSs'. 

68 


And  yourself? 

Nay,  it  is  no  affair  of  mine  to  try  my 
own  thoughts,  and  to  compare  and  esti- 
mate statements,  and  to  form  some  opin- 
ion of  my  own  upon  the  matter. 

And  thus  I  differ  no  whit  from  the 
grammarians.  Who  was  Hector's  father  ? 
Priam.  And  his  brothers  ?  Alexander 
and  Deiphobus.  And  their  mother,  who 
was  she  ?  Hecuba.  That  is  the  account 
I  have  received.  From  whom  ?  From 
Homer ;  and  I  think  Hellanicus  has 
written  of  them,  and  maybe  others  too. 

And  I ;  what  better  have  I  to  say 
about  the  master  argument  ?  But  if  I 
am  a  vain  man,  and  especially  at  a  ban- 
quet, I  shall  amaze  all  the  company  by 
recounting  those  who  have  written  on 
it ;  —  for  Chrysippus  wrote  on  it  won- 
derfully in  his  first  book  "  On  Possibili- 
ties ;  "  and  Cleanthes  wrote  a  separate 
treatise  on  it,  and  so  did  Archedemus. 
And  Antipater  wrote    too,  not  only  in 


fr^EfrUa 


69 


mSsmk 


his  book,  "  On  Possibilities,"  but  also 
separately  in  those  on  the  master  argu- 
ment. Have  you  not  read  the  work  ? 
No  !     Then  read  it. 

And  what  good  will  it  do  him  to  read 
it  ?  He  will  become  yet  more  of  a 
babbler  and  a  nuisance  than  he  is  now, 
for  what  else  hath  the  reading  of  it  done 
for  you  ?  What  opinion  have  you 
formed  for  yourself  on  the  matter  ? 
Nay,  but  you  will  tell  us  all  about  Helen, 
and  Priam,  and  the  island  of  Calypso, 
that  never  existed,  nor  ever  will. 

And  in  Homer,  indeed,  it  is  no  great 
matter  if  you  have  simply  mastered  the 
account,  and  formed  no  opinion  of  your 
own.  But  in  ethics  this  is  even  much 
more  often  the  case  than  in  other  mat- 
ters. Tell  me  concerning  good  and 
evil  things  ?  Listen  to  him,  then,  with 
his  — 

"  The   wind   brought    me    from   Troy    unto 
Kikonia." 


.         _   «   •  .      *    *  ^  **A   k     Li 

•-••---•  *"-f  *  ts>  2*  V*r  • 

.  » rVi  *  *  •    ♦■■♦•»#»  W  .  «( .-  ¥    *    : 
•    -  *-    -    •   »    Vfc.«    *?»  *    "J*    «• 


70 


.-. .  ~^  "*.•:-.•.  <  - 


Of  things  some  are  good,  some  evil,  and 
some  indifferent.  Now  the  good  things 
are  the  virtues,  and  those  that  have  the 
nature  of  virtue,  and  the  evil  things  the 
vices,  and  those  that  have  the  nature  of 
vice ;  and  the  indifferent  things  are  be- 
tween these,  as  wealth,  health,  life,  death, 
pleasure,  affliction. 

And  how  do  you  know  this  ?  Be- 
cause Hellanicus  affirms  it  in  his  history 
of  the  Egyptians  ;  for  as  well  say  this  as 
that  Diogenes  has  it  in  his  Ethics,  or 
Chrysippus,  or  Cleanthes.  But  have 
you  tested  any  of  their  sayings,  and 
formed  an  opinion  for  yourself?  Show 
me  how  you  are  wont  to  bear  a  storm 
at  sea.  Do  you  remember  the  differ- 
ence between  good  and  evil  when  the 
sail  clatters,  and  some  vexatious  man 
comes  to  you  as  you  are  shrieking,  and 
says  — 

"  Tell  me,  by  the    gods,    what 

you  were  lately  saying,  Is  it  any  vice  to 


e^e> 


71 


I 


be    shipwrecked  ?      Has   it  anything  of 
the  nature  of  vice  ?  " 

Would  you  not  lay  hold  of  a  stick 
and  shake  it  in  his  face  :  Let  us  alone, 
man  ;  we  are  perishing,  and  you  come 
to  mock  us  ! 

And  do  you  remember  the  difference 
if  you  are  accused  of  something  and 
Caesar  sends  for  you  ?  If  one  should 
come  to  you  when  you  enter,  pale  and 
trembling,  and  should  say,  "  Why  do 
you  tremble,  man  ?  what  is  your  busi- 
ness concerned  with  ?  Doth  Caesar 
there  within  dispense  virtue  and  vice  to 
those  who  go  in  to  him  ?  Why,  you 
will  say ;  must  you  too  mock  me  in  my 
calamities  ? 

"  Nevertheless,  tell  me,  O  Phi- 
losopher, why  you  tremble  —  is  it  not 
merely  death  that  you  are  in  danger  of, 
or  imprisonment,  or  bodily  suffering,  or 
exile,  or  disgrace  ?  What  else  ?  Is  it  any 
vice  ?  or  anything  of  the  nature  of  vice  ?  " 


72 


t> 


^lA* 


And  you  will  reply  somewhat  to  this 
effect  :  Let  me  alone,  man  ;  my  own 
evils  are  enough  for  me. 

And  truly  you  say  well,  for  your  own 
evils  are  enough  for  you ;  which  are 
meanness,  cowardice,  and  your  false 
pretences  when  you  sat  in  the  school  of 
philosophy.  Why  did  you  deck  your- 
self in  others'  glory  ?  Why  did  you  call 
yourself  a  Stoic  ? 

Watch  yourselves  thus  in  the  things 
that  you  do,  and  you  shall  see  of  what 
school  you  are.  And  the  most  of  you 
will  be  found  Epicureans,  but  some  few 
Peripatetics,  and  those  but  slack.  For 
where  is  the  proof  that  you  hold  virtue 
equal  to  all  other  things,  or  indeed  supe- 
rior ?  Show  me  a  Stoic,  if  you  have 
one.  Where  or  how  can  you  ?  But 
persons  that  repeat  the  phrases  of  Stoi- 
cism, of  these  you  can  show  us  any 
number.  And  do  they  repeat  those 
of  the  Epicureans  any  worse  ?  and  are 


73 


they  not  equally  accurate  in  the  Peripa- 
tetic ? 

Who  is,  then,  a  Stoic  ?  As  we  say 
that  a  statue  is  Pheidian  which  is 
wrought  according  to  the  art  of  Phei- 
dias,  show  me  a  man  that  is  wrought 
according  to  the  opinions  he  utters ! 
Show  me  one  that  is  sick  and  yet  pros- 
perous, in  peril  and  prosperous,  dying 
and  prosperous,  in  exile  and  prosperous, 
in  evil  repute  and  prosperous.  Show 
him  to  me  !  by  the  Gods  !  fain  would  I 
see  a  Stoic  !  And  have  you  none  that  is 
fully  wrought  out ;  then  show  me  at  least 
one  that  is  in  hand  to  be  wrought  —  one 
that  even  leans  towards  these  things. 
Do  me  this  favour  —  grudge  not  an  old 
man  a  sight  that  I  have  never  seen  yet. 

Think  you  that  I  would  have  you 
show  me  the  Zeus  of  Pheidias  or  the 
Athene  —  a  work  all  ivory  and  gold  ? 
Nay  ;  but  let  one  show  me  a  man's  soul 
that  longs  to  be  like-minded  with  God, 


74 


and  to  blame  neither  Gods  nor  men,  and 
not  to  fail  in  any  effort  or  avoidance, 
and  not  to  be  wrathful  or  envious,  or 
jealous,  but  —  for  why  should  I  make 
rounds  to  say  it  ?  —  that  desires  to  be- 
come a  God  from  a  man,  and  in  this 
body  of  ours,  this  corpse,  is  mindful  of 
his  fellowship  with  Zeus.  Show  me 
that  man. 

But  you  cannot !  Why,  then,  will 
you  mock  yourselves  and  cheat  others  ? 
Why  wrap  yourselves  in  others'  garb, 
and  go  about,  like  thieves  that  steal 
clothes  from  the  bath,  with  names  and 
things  that  in  nowise  belong  to  you  ? 

And  now  I  am  your  teacher  and  you 
are  being  taught  by  me.  And  I  have 
this  aim  —  to  perfect  you,  that  you  be 
unhindered,  uncompelled,  unembarrassed, 
free,  prosperous,  happy,  looking  unto 
God  alone  in  all  things  great  and  small. 
And  you  are  here  to  learn  these  things, 
and  to  do  them.     And  wherefore  do  you 


75 


not  finish  the  work,  if  you  have  indeed 
such  an  aim  as  behoves  you,  and  if  I, 
besides  the  aim,  have  such  ability  as  be- 
hoves me  ? 

What  is  here  lacking  ?  When  I  see 
a  carpenter,  and  the  wood  lying  beside 
him,  I  look  for  some  work.  And  now, 
here  is  the  carpenter,  here  is  the  wood 
—  what  is  yet  lacking  ?  Is  the  thing 
such  as  cannot  be  taught  ?  It  can.  Is 
it,  then,  not  in  our  power  ?  Yea,  this 
alone  of  all  things  is.  Wealth  is  not  in 
our  power,  nor  health,  nor  repute,  nor 
any  other  thing,  save  only  the  right  use 
of  appearances.  This  alone  is  by  na- 
ture unhindered  ;  this  alone  is  unembar- 
rassed. Wherefore,  then,  will  you  not 
make  an  end  ? 

Tell  me  the  reason.  For  either  the 
fault  lies  in  me,  or  in  you,  or  in  the 
nature  of  the  thing.  But  the  thing  itself 
is  possible,  and  indeed  the  only  thing 
that  is  in  our  power.      It  remains  that  I 


76 


77 


THE    GAME    OF    LIFE 

This  above  all  is  the  task  of  Nature 
—  to  bind  and  harmonise  together  the 
force  of  the  appearances  of  the  Right 
and  of  the  Useful. 

Things  are  indifferent,  but  the  uses  of 
them  are  not  indifferent.  How,  then, 
shall  one  preserve  at  once  both  a  stead- 
fast and  tranquil  mind,  and  also  careful- 
ness of  things,  that  he  be  not  heedless  or 
slovenly  ? 

If  he  take  example  of  dice  players. 
The  numbers  are  indifferent.  The  dice 
are  indifferent.  How  can  I  tell  what 
may  be  thrown  up  ?  But  carefully 
and  skilfully  to  make  use  of  what  is 
thrown,  that  is  where  my  proper  busi- 
ness   begins.       And    this    is    the    great 


78 


task  of  life  also,  to  discern  things  and 
divide  them,  and  say,  "  Outward  things 
are  not  in  my  power ;  to  will  is  in  my 
power.  Where  shall  I  seek  the  Good, 
and  where  the  Evil?  Within  me  —  in 
all  that  is  my  own."  But  of  all  that  is 
alien  to  you  call  nothing  good  or  evil 
or  profitable  or  hurtful,  or  any  such 
term  as  these. 

What  then  ?  should  we  be  careless  of 
such  things  ?  Not  at  all.  For  this, 
again,  is  a  vice  in  the  Will  and  thus  con- 
trary to  Nature.  But  be  at  once  care- 
ful, because  the  use  of  things  is  not 
indifferent,  and  steadfast  and  tranquil 
because  the  things  themselves  are.  For 
where  there  is  anything  that  concerns 
me,  there  none  can  hinder  or  compel 
me ;  and  in  those  things  where  I  am 
hindered  or  compelled,  the  attainment  is 
not  in  my  power,  and  is  neither  good 
nor  evil ;  but  my  use  of  the  event  is 
either  evil   or   good,  and  this  is  in   my 


79 


(Jjj/j/// 

power.  And  hard  it  is,  indeed,  to  mingle 
and  reconcile  together  the  carefulness  of 
one  whom  outward  things  affect,  with 
the  steadfastness  of  him  who  regards 
them  not.  But  impossible  it  is  not ; 
and  if  it  is,  it  is  impossible  to  be  happy. 

Give  me  one  man  that  cares  how  he 
shall  do  anything  —  that  thinks  not  of 
the  gaining  of  the  thing,  but  thinks 
of  his  own   energy. 

Chrysippus,  therefore,  said  well  — 
"  As  long  as  future  things  are  hidden 
from  me,  I  hold  always  by  whatever 
state  is  the  most  favourable  for  gaining 
the  things  that  are  according  to  Nature ; 
for  God  himself  gave  it  to  me  to  make 
such  choice.  But  if  I  knew  that  it  were 
now  ordained  for  me  to  be  sick,  I  would 
even  move  to  it  of  myself.  For  the 
foot,  too,  if  it  had  intelligence,  would 
move  of  itself  to  be  mired." 

For  to  what  end,  think  you,  are  ears 
of  corn  produced  ?      Is  it  not  that  they 

80 


T 


may  become  dry  and  parched  ?  And  the 
reason  they  are  parched,  is  it  not  that 
they  may  be  reaped  ?  for  it  is  not  to 
exist  for  themselves  alone  that  they  come 
into  the  world.  If,  then,  they  had  per- 
ception, would  it  be  proper  for  them  to 
pray  that  they  should  never  be  reaped  ? 
since  never  to  be  reaped  is  for  ears  of 
corn  a  curse. 

So  understand  that  for  men  it  is  a 
curse  not  to  die,  just  as  not  to  be  ripened 
and  not  to  be  reaped.  But  we,  since  we 
are  both  the  things  to  be  reaped  and  are 
also  conscious  that  we  shall  be  reaped, 
are  indignant  thereat.  For  we  know 
not  what  we  are,  nor  have  we  studied 
what  concerns  humanity,  as  those  that 
have  the  care  of  horses  study  what  con- 
cerns them. 

But  Chrysantas,  when  just  about  to 
smite  the  enemy,  forbore  on  hearing  the 
trumpet  sounding  his  recall ;  so  much 
better  did   it   seem  to  him    to    obey   the 


i     i  mtf. 


L 


81 


commander's  order  than  to  do  his  own 
will.  But  of  us  not  one  will  follow  with 
docility  the  summons  even  of  necessity, 
but  weeping  and  groaning  the  things  that 
we  suffer,  we  suffer,  calling  them  our 
doomi 

What  doom,  man  ?  If  by  doom  you 
mean  that  which  is  doomed  to  happen  to 
us,  then  we  are  doomed  in  all  things. 
But  if  only  our  afflictions  are  to  be  called 
doom,  then  what  affliction  is  it  that 
that  which  has  come  into  being  should 
perish  ?  But  we  perish  by  the  sword, 
or  the  wheel,  or  the  sea,  or  the  tile  of  a 
roof,  or  a  tyrant.  What  matters  it  by 
what  road  you  go  down  into  Hades  ? 
they  are  all  equal.  But  if  you  will  hear 
the  truth,  the  way  the  tyrant  sends  you 
is  the  shortest.  Never  did  any  tyrant 
cut  a  man's  throat  in  six  months,  but  a 
fever  will  often  be  a  year  killing  him. 
All  these  things  are  but  noise,  and  a 
clatter  of  empty  names. 


r< 


<*f 


■»v 


82 


w 


But  let  us  do  as  in  setting  out  on  a 
voyage.  What  is  it  possible  for  me  to 
do  ?  This  —  to  choose  the  captain, 
crew,  the  day,  the  opportunity.  Then 
a  tempest  has  burst  upon  us  ;  but  what 
does  it  concern  me  ?  I  have  left  nothing 
undone  that  was  mine  to  do  ;  the  prob- 
lem is  now  another's,  to  wit,  the  cap- 
tain's. But  now  the  ship  is  sinking ! 
and  what  have  I  to  do  ?  I  do  only 
what  I  am  able  —  drown  without  terror 
and  shrieking  and  accusing  of  God,  but 
knowing  that  that  which  has  come  into 
being  must  also  perish.  For  I  am  no 
Immortal,  but  a  man,  a  part  of  the  sum 
of  things  as  an  hour  is  of  the  day.  Like 
the  hour  I  must  arrive,  and,  like  the 
hour,  pass  away.  What,  then,  can  it 
matter  to  me  how  I  pass  away  — 
whether  by  drowning  or  by  a  fever  ?  for 
pass  I  must,  even  by  some  such' thing. 

Now,  this  is  what  you  shall  see  done 
by  skilful  ball-players.     None  cares  for 


83 


^JBfe 


the  ball  as  for  a  thing  good  or  bad  ;  but 
only  about  throwing  it  and  catching  it. 
In  this,  then,  there  is  rule,  in  this  art, 
quickness,  judgment ;  so  that  I  may  fail 
of  catching  the  ball,  even  if  I  spread  out 
my  lap,  and  another,  if  I  throw  it,  may 
catch  it.  But  if  I  am  anxious  and  nerv- 
ous as  I  catch  and  throw,  what  kind  of 
play  is  this  ?  how  shall  one  be  steady  ? 
how  shall  one  observe  the  order  of  the 
game  ?  One  will  call  "  Throw,"  "  Do 
not  throw,"  and  another,  "  You  have 
thrown  once."  But  this  is  strife  and 
not  play. 

Thus  Socrates  knew  how  to  play  ball. 
How  ?  When  he  jested  in  the  court  of 
justice. 

"  Tell  me,  Anytus,"  he  said,  "  how 
say  you  that  I  believe  there  is  no  God  ? 
The  Daemons,  who  are  they,  think  you  ? 
Are  they  not  sons  of  God,  or  a  mixed 
nature  between  Gods  and  men  ?  " 

And     when     this     was     admitted  — 


re* 


'ts.fffi 


84 


"  Who,    do    you    think,    can    hold    that 
mules  exist,  but  not  asses  ?  " 

And  thus  he  played  with  the  ball. 
And  what  was  the  ball  that  was  there 
thrown  about  among  them  ?  Life, 
chains,  exile,  a  draught  of  poison,  to  be 
torn  from  a  wife,  to  leave  children  or- 
phans. These  were  the  things  among 
them  that  they  played  withal ;  yet  none 
the  less  did  he  play,  and  flung  the  ball 
with  proper  grace  and  measure.  And  so 
should  we  do  also,  having  the  carefulness 
of  the  most  zealous  players,  and  yet  in- 
difference, as  were  it  merely  about  a 
ball. 


85 


THINGS    ARE    WHAT    THEY    ARE 

Each  thing  that  allures  the  mind,  or 
offers  an  advantage,  or  is  loved  by  you, 
remember  to  speak  of  it  as  it  is,  from 
the  smallest  things  upward.  If  you  love 
an  earthen  jar,  then  think,  I  love  an 
earthen  jar,  for  so  shall  you  not  be 
troubled  when  it  breaks.  And  when 
you  kiss  your  little  child,  or  wife,  think, 
I  kiss  a  mortal ;  and  so  shall  you  not  be 
troubled  when  they  die. 

When  you  are  about  to  take  in  hand 
some  action,  bethink  you  what  it  is  that 
you  are  about  to  do.  If  you  go  to  the  bath, 
represent  to  yourself  all  that  takes  place 
there  —  the  squirting  of  water,  the  slap- 
ping, the  scolding,  the  pilfering ;  and 
then  shall  you  take  the  matter  in  hand 


c^e> 


86 


more  safely,  saying  straightway  :  I  de- 
sire to  be  bathed,  and  maintain  my  pur- 
pose according  to  Nature. 

And  even  so  with  each  and  every 
action.  For  thus,  if  aught  should  occur 
to  cross  you  in  your  bathing,  this  thought 
shall  be  straightway  at  hand  :  But  not 
this  alone  did  I  desire ;  but  also  to  main- 
tain my  purpose  according  to  Nature. 
And  I  shall  not  maintain  it  if  I  have  in- 
dignation at  what  happens  here. 

The  first  difference  between  the  vulgar 
man  and  the  philosopher :  The  one  says, 
Woe  is  me  for  my  child,  my  brother, 
woe  for  my  father ;  but  the  other,  if  ever 
he  shall  be  compelled  to  say,  Woe  is 
me,  checks  himself  and  says,  for  myself. 
For  nothing  that  the  Will  wills  not  can 
hinder  or  hurt  the  Will,  but  itself  only 
can  hurt  itself. 

If  then,  indeed,  we  too  incline  to  this, 
that  when  we  are  afflicted  we  accuse 
ourselves,  and  recollect  that  nothing  else 


~7^ 


mm 


87 


than  Opinion  can  cause  us  any  trouble 
or  unsettlement,  I  swear  by  all  the  Gods 
we  have  advanced  !  But  as  it  is,  we 
have  from  the  beginning  travelled  a  dif- 
ferent road.  While  we  are  still  children, 
if  haply  we  stumbled  as  we  were  gaping 
about,  the  nurse  did  not  chide  us,  but 
beat  the  stone.  For  what  had  the  stone 
done  ?  Ought  it  to  have  moved  out  of 
the  way,  for  your  child's  folly  ?  Again, 
if  we  find  nothing  to  eat  after  coming 
from  the  bath,  never  does  the  tutor 
check  our  desire,  but  he  beats  the 
cook. 

Man,   we 
tutor  of  the 


did    not   set  you   to  be 
cook,  but  of  our  child  - 


him  shall  you  train,  him  improve.  And 
thus,  even  when  full-grown,  we  appear 
as  children.  For  a  child  in  music  is 
he  who  has  not  learned  music,  and  in 
letters,  one  who  has  not  learned  let- 
ters, and    in  life,    one  undisciplined    in 


88 


It  is  not  things,  but  the  opinions 
about  the  things,  that  trouble  mankind. 
Thus  Death  is  nothing  terrible ;  if  it 
were  so,  it  would  have  appeared  so  to 
Socrates.  But  the  opinion  we  have 
about  Death,  that  it  is  terrible,  that  it  is 
wherein  the  terror  lies.  When,  there- 
fore, we  are  hindered,  or  troubled,  or 
grieved,  never  let  us  blame  any  other 
than  ourselves  :  that  is  to  say,  our  opin- 
ions. A  man  undisciplined  in  philosophy 
blames  others  in  matters  in  which  he 
fares  ill ;  one  who  begins  to  be  disci- 
plined blames  himself,  one  who  is  dis- 
ciplined, neither  others  nor  himself. 

Be  not  elated  in  mind  at  any  superiority 
that  is  not  of  yourself.  If  your  horse 
were  elated  and  should  say,  I  am  beauti- 
ful, that  would  be  tolerable.  But  when 
you  are  elated  and  say,  I  have  a  beauti- 
ful horse,  know  that  it  is  at  an  excellence 
in  your  horse  that  you  are  elated.  What, 
then,    is  your  own  ?     This  —  to    make 


89 


9o 


m*m 


iffr' 


THREE    STEPS    TO    PERFECTION 


There  are  three  divisions  of  Philoso- 
phy wherein  a  man  must  exercise  himself 
who  would  be  wise  and  good. 

The  first  concerns  his  pursuit  and 
avoidance,  so  that  he  may  not  fail  of 
anything  that  he  would  attain,  or  fall 
into  anything  that  he  would  avoid. 

The  second  concerns  his  desires  and 
aversions,  and,  generally,  all  that  it  be- 
comes a  man  to  be,  so  that  he  bear  him- 
self orderly  and  prudently  and  not 
heedlessly. 

The  third  is  that  which  concerns  se- 
curity from  delusion  and  hasty  apprehen- 
sion, and,  generally,  the  assenting  to 
appearances. 

Of  these  the  chief  and  most  urgent  is 


/ 


91 


that  which  has  to  do  with  the  passions, 
for  the  passions  arise  in  no  other  way 
than  by  our  failing  in  endeavour  to 
attain  or  to  avoid  something.  That 
is  what  brings  in  troubles  and  tumults 
and  ill-luck  and  misfortune,  that  is  the 
cause  of  griefs  and  lamentations  and 
envies,  that  makes  envious  and  jealous 
men  ;  by  which  things  we  become  un- 
able even  to  hear  the  doctrines  of 
reason. 

The  second  concerns  that  which  is 
becoming  to  a  man  ;  for  I  must  not  be 
passionless,  like  a  statue,  but  maintain 
all  relations  natural  and  acquired,  as  a 
religious  being,  as  a  son,  as  a  brother,  as 
a  father,  as  a  citizen. 

The  third  is  that  which  concerns  men 
as  soon  as  they  are  making  advance  in 
philosophy,  which  provides  for  the  secu- 
rity of  the  two  others ;  so  that  not  even 
in  dreams  may  any  appearance  that  ap- 
proaches us  pass  untested,  nor  in   wine, 


92 


nor  in  ill-humours.  Th 
say,  is  beyond  us.  But  the  philosophers 
of  this  day,  passing  by  the  first  and 
second  parts  of  philosophy,  occupy  them- 
selves in  the  third,  cavilling,  and  arguing 
by  questions,  and  constructing  hypotheses 
and  fallacies.  For,  they  say,  when  deal- 
ing with  these  subjects  a  man  must  guard 
himself  from  delusion.  Who  must  ? 
The  wise  and  good  man. 

And  this  security  is  all  you  lack,  then  ; 
the  rest  you  have  wrought  out  already  ? 
You  are  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by 
money  ?  and  if  you  see  a  fair  girl  you  can 
hold  out  against  the  appearance  ?  and  if 
your  neighbour  inherits  a  legacy  you  are 
not  envious  ?  there  is  now,  in  short, 
nothing  lacking  to  you  except  to  confirm 
what  you  have  ?  Wretch  !  these  very 
things  do  you  hear  in  fear  and  anxiety 
lest  some  one  may  despise  you,  and  in- 
quiring what  men  say  about  you.  And 
if  someone  come  and  tell  you  that  when 


93 


<& 


fjflTV 


it  was  discussed  who  was  the  best  of  the 
philosophers,  one  present  said,  Such  a 
one  is  the  greatest  philosopher,  your 
little  soul  will  grow  up  from  a  finger's 
breadth  to  two  cubits.  And  if  another 
who  was  present  said,  Nothing  of  the 
kind  ;  it  is  not  worth  while  to  listen  to 
him  ;  for  what  does  he  know  ?  he  has 
made  a  beginning  in  philosophy  and  no 
more,  you  are  amazed,  you  grow  pale, 
and  straightway  you  cry  out,  I  will  show 
him  who  I  am,  that  I  am  a  great  philos- 
opher. 

Out  of  these  very  things  it  is  seen 
what  you  are ;  why  do  you  desire  to 
show  it  by  any  others  ? 


94 


THAT  A  MAN  MAY   BE   BOTH   BOLD  AND 
TIMID 

To  some  it  may  perchance  seem  a 
paradox,  this  axiom  of  the  philosophers ; 
yet  let  us  make  the  best  inquiry  we  can 
if  it  be  true  that  it  is  possible  to  do  all 
things  at  once  with  timidity  and  with 
boldness.  For  timidity  seems  in  a  man- 
ner contrary  to  boldness,  and  contraries 
can  never  coexist.  But  that  which  to 
many  seems  a  paradox  in  this  matter 
seems  to  me  to  stand  somehow  thus : 
If  we  affirmed  that  both  timidity  and 
boldness  could  be  used  in  the  very  same 
things,  they  would  justly  accuse  us  that 
we  were  reconciling  what  is  irreconci- 
lable. But  now,  what  is  there  so  strange 
in  this  saying  ? 


95 


For  if  it  is  sound,  what  has  been  so 
often  both  affirmed  and  demonstrated, 
that  the  essence  of  the  Good  is  in  the 
use  of  appearances,  and  likewise  so  of 
the  Evil,  and  things  uncontrollable  by 
the  Will  have  the  nature  neither  of  good 
nor  of  evil,  what  paradox  do  the  phi- 
losophers affirm  if  they  say  that  in  things 
uncontrollable  by  the  Will,  then  be  bold- 
ness thy  part,  and  in  things  subject  to 
the  Will,  timidity.  For  if  Evil  lie  in 
an  evil  Will,  then  in  these  things  alone 
is  it  right  to  use  timidity.  And  if  things 
uncontrollable  by  the  Will,  and  that  are 
not  in  our  power,  are  nothing  to  us, 
then  in  these  things  we  should  use  bold- 
ness. And  thus  shall  we  be  at  one  time 
both  timid  and  bold  — yea,  and  bold  even 
through  our  timidity.  For  through  being 
timid  in  things  that  are  veritably  evil  it 
comes  that  we  shall  be  bold  in  those  that 
are  not  so. 

But  we,  on  the  contrary,  fall  victims 


96 


as  deer  do.  When  these  are  terrified 
and  fly  from  the  beaters,  whither  do  they 
turn  and  to  what  do  they  retreat  as  a 
refuge  ?  To  the  nets :  and  thus  they 
perish,  confusing  things  to  fear  and 
things  to  be  bold  about.  And  thus  do 
we  also. 

Where  do  we  employ  fear  ?  In  things 
beyond  our  Will.  And  wherein  do  we 
act  boldly,  as  were  there  nothing  to 
dread  ?  In  things  subject  to  the  Will. 
To  be  beguiled,  then,  or  to  be  rash,  or 
to  do  some  shameless  act,  or  with  base 
greed  to  pursue  some  object  —  these 
things  concern  us  no  whit  if  we  may 
only  hit  the  mark  in  things  beyond  the 
Will.  But  where  death  is,  or  exile,  or 
suffering,  or  evil  repute,  there  we  run 
away,  there  we  are  scared.  Therefore, 
as  it  were  to  be  looked  for  in  those  who 
are  astray  in  the  things  of  greatest  mo- 
ment, we  work  out  our  natural  boldness 
into  swaggering,  abandonment,  rashness, 


&~*>£D 


97 


£m 


$6 


***" mminiiiiuil |f 


43 


shamelessness ;  and  our  natural  timidity 
and  shamefastness  into  cowardice  and 
meanness,  full  of  terror  and  trouble. 

For  if  one  should  transfer  his  timidity 
to  the  realm  of  the  Will,  and  the  works 
thereof,  straightway,  together  with  the 
intention  of  fearing  to  do  wrong  he  shall 
have  it  in  his  power  to  avoid  doing  it; 
but  if  he  use  it  in  things  out  of  our  own 
power  and  beyond  the  Will,  then  striving 
to  avoid  things  that  are  in  others'  power 
he  shall  of  necessity  be  terrified  and  un- 
settled and  troubled.  For  death  is  not 
fearful,  nor  is  pain,  but  the  fear  of  pain 
or  death.  And  thus  we  praise  Euripides, 
who  said  : 

*«  Fear  not  to  die,  but  fear  a  coward's  death." 

It  is  right,  then,  that  we  should  turn 
our  boldness  against  death,  and  our  ti- 
midity against  the  fear  of  death.  But 
now  we  do  the  contrary  :    death  we  flee 


9S 


in 


from,  but  as  to  the  state  of  our  opinion 
about  death  we  are  negligent,  heedless, 
indifferent. 

These  things  Socrates  did  well  to  call 
bugbears.  For  as  to  children,  through 
their  inexperience,  ugly  masks  appear 
terrible  and  fearful ;  so  we  are  somewhat 
the   same   way    moved    towards    the 


affairs  of  life,  for  no  other  cause  than  as 
children  are  affected  by  these  bugbears. 
For  what  is  a  child  ?  Ignorance.  What 
is  a  child  ?  That  which  has 
learned.  For  when  he  knows 
things  he  is  nowise  inferior  to  us. 
What  is  death  ?  A  bugbear, 
it  round  ;  examine  it 
bite.  Now  or  later  that  which  is  body 
must  be  parted  from  that  which  is  spirit, 
as  formerly  it  was  parted.  Why,  then, 
hast  thou  indignation  if  it  be  now  ?  for 
if  it  be  not  now,  it  will  be  later.  And 
wherefore  ?  That  the  cycle  of 
world  may  be  fulfilled ;   for  it  has 


never 
these 


see,  it  does  not 


99 


of  a  present  and  of  a  future  and   of  a 
past. 

What  is  pain  ?  A  bugbear.  Turn  it 
about  and  examine  it.  This  poor  body 
is  moved  harshly,  then  again  softly.  If 
you  have  no  advantage  thereof,  the  door 
is  open  ;  if  you  have,  then  bear  it.  For 
in  all  events  it  is  right  that  the  door 
should  stand  open,  and  so  have  we  no 
distress. 

Shall  I,  then,  exist  no  longer  ? 

Nay,  you  shall  exist,  but  as  something 
else,  whereof  the  universe  has  now  need. 
For  neither  did  you  choose  your  own 
time  to  come  into  existence,  but  when 
the  universe  had  need  of  you. 

What,  then,  is  the  fruit  of  these  opin- 
ions ?  That  which  ought  to  be  the  fair- 
est and  comeliest  to  those  who  have  been 
truly  taught,  —  tranquillity,  courage,  and 
freedom.  For  concerning  these  things, 
the  multitude  are  not  to  be  believed  who 
say  that  those  only  should  be  taught  who 


IOO 


are  freemen,  but  the  philosophers  rather, 
who  say  that  those  only  are  free  who 
have  been  taught. 

How  is  this  ? 

It  is  thus  —  Is  freedom  anything  else 
than  the  power  to  live  as  we  choose  ? 

Nothing  else. 

Do  you  choose,  then,  to  live  in  sin  ? 

We  do  not  choose  it. 

None,  therefore,  that  fears  or  grieves 
or  is  anxious  is  free ;  but  whoever  is 
released  from  griefs  and  fears  and  anxie- 
ties is  by  that  very  thing  released  from 
slavery.  How,  then,  shall  we  still  be- 
lieve you,  most  excellent  legislators,  when 
you  say,  "  We  permit  none  to  be  taught, 
save  freemen  ? "  for  the  philosophers 
say,  "  We  permit  none  to  be  free  save 
those  who  have  been  taught  "  —  that  is, 
God  permits  it  not. 

So,  when  a  man  turns  round  his  slave 
before  the  Praetor  and  manumits  him, 
has  he  done  nothing  ? 


t&.»x£> 


IOI 


;*r»v* 


T 


J. 


He  has  done  something. 

And  what  ? 

He  has  turned  round  his  slave  before 
the  Praetor. 

Nothing  else  at  all  ? 

Yea,  this  too  —  he  must  pay  for  him 
the  tax  of  the  twentieth. 

What  then  ?  has  the  man  thus  treated 
not  gained  his  freedom  ? 

No  more  than  he  has  gained  tranquil- 
lity of  mind.  For  you,  who  are  able  to 
emancipate  others,  have  you  no  master  ? 
is  money  not  your  master,  or  lust,  or  a 
tyrant,  or  some  friend  of  a  tyrant  ? 
Why,  then,  do  you  tremble  when  you  are 
to  meet  with  some  affliction  in  this  kind  ? 
And  therefore,  I  say  oftentimes,  be  these 
things  your  study,  be  these  things  ever 
at  your  hand,  wherein  ye  should  be 
bold  and  wherein  timid ;  bold  in  things 
beyond  the  Will,  timid  in  things  subject 
to  the  Will. 


"S 


I02 


VI. 


THE    WISE    MAN  S    FEAR    AND    THE    FOOL  S 

The  appearances  by  which  the  mind 
of  man  is  smitten  with  the  first  aspect  of 
a  thing  as  it  approaches  the  soul,  are  not 
matters  of  the  will,  nor  can  we  control 
them  ;  but  by  a  certain  force  of  their 
own  the  objects  which  we  have  to  com- 
prehend are  borne  in  upon  us.  But  that 
ratification  of  them,  which  we  name  as- 
sent, whereby  the  appearances  are  com- 
prehended and  judged,  these  are  voluntary, 
and  are  done  by  human  choice.  Where- 
fore at  a  sound  from  the  heavens,  or 
from  the  downfall  of  something,  or  some 
signal  of  danger,  or  anything  else  of  this 
kind,  it  must  needs  be  that  the  soul  of 
the  philosopher  too  shall  be  somewhat 
moved,  and    he   shall    shrink   and  grow 


*J&*  , 


V<C- 


rf 


103 


pale  ;  not  through  any  opinion  of  evil 
that  he  has  formed,  but  through  certain 
rapid  and  unconsidered  motions  that  fore- 
stall the  office  of  the  mind  and  reason. 
Soon,  however,  that  philosopher  doth 
not  approve  the  appearances  to  be  truly 
objects  of  terror  to  his  soul,  —  that  is 
to  say,  he  assents  not  to  them  nor  rat- 
ifies them  ;  but  he  rejects  them,  and  casts 
them  out ;  nor  doth  there  seem  to  be  in 
them  anything  that  he  should  fear.  But 
in  this,  say  the  philosophers,  the  wise 
man  differs  from  the  fool,  —  that  the  fool 
thinks  the  appearances  to  be  in  truth  even 
so  harsh  and  rough  as  they  seemed  at 
their  first  shock  upon  the  soul ;  and  tak- 
ing them,  as  at  first,  to  be  rightly  dreaded, 
he  thus  ratifies  and  approves  them  by 
his  assent.  The  philosopher,  however, 
though  for  a  short  time  his  colour  and 
countenance  have  been  changed,  does 
not  then  assent,  but  he  retains  in  its 
steadfastness  and  vigour  the  opinion  he 


104 


ever  had  of  these  appearances,  that  they 
are  in  no  wise  to  be  feared,  but  affright 
only  by  a  false  show  and  empty  threat. 
Such  as  is  a  dish  of  water,  such  is  the 
soul ;  such  as  is  the  ray  of  light  that  falls 
on  the  same,  such  are  the  appearances. 
When  the  water  is  moved,  then  the  ray 
seems  also  to  be  moved ;  but  it  is  not 
moved.  And  thus  when  a  man's  mind 
is  darkened  and  dizzy,  it  is  not  doctrines 
and  virtues  that  are  confounded,  but  the 
spirit  on  which  they  are  impressed.  And 
if  that  is  restored,  so  are  they. 


105 


APPEARANCES    FALSE    AND  TRUE 

Appearances  exist  for  us  in  four 
ways.  Either  things  appear  as  they 
are ;  or  having  no  existence,  neither  do 
they  appear  to  have  it;  or  they  exist, 
and  appear  not ;  or  they  exist  not,  and  yet 
appear.  So,  in  all  these  cases,  to  hit  the 
mark  is  the  work  of  him  who  has  been 
taught  in  philosophy. 

But  whatever  it  be  that  afflicts  us,  it 
is  to  that  thing  that  the  remedy  is  to  be 
applied.  If  it  is  the  sophisms  of  the 
Pyrrhonists  and  Academics  that  afflict 
us,  to  them  let  us  apply  the  remedy.  If 
it  is  the  delusiveness  of  things,  whereby 
that  appears  to  be  good  which  is  not  so, 
to  that  let  us  seek  for  the  remedy. 

If  a  habit  afflict  us,  against  that  must 


^T 


1 06 


we  endeavour  to  find  some  remedy.  And 
what  remedy  is  to  be  found  against  a 
habit  ?  The  contrary  habit.  You  hear 
the  ignorant  when  they  say,  The 
wretched  man  is  dead ;  his  father  is  per- 
ishing with  grief  for  him,  or  his  mother ; 
he  was  cut  off,  yea,  and  untimely,  and  in 
a  strange  land. 

Hearken,  then,  to  the  contrary  words. 
Tear  thyself  away  from  such  utterances. 
Against  habit  set  the  contrary  habit. 
Against  the  words  of  the  Sophists  have 
the  maxims  of  philosophers  and  the  exer- 
cise and  constant  usage  of  them  ;  against 
the  delusiveness  of  things  have  clear 
natural  conceptions  ever  burnished  and 
ready. 

Whenever  death  may  appear  to  be  an 
evil,  have  ready  the  thought  that  it  is 
right  to  avoid  evils,  and  that  death  is 
unavoidable.  For  what  shall  I  do  ? 
whither  shall  I  flee  from  it  ?  Let  it  be 
granted  that  I  am  no  Sarpedon,  son  of 


107 


Zeus,  to  speak  in  that  lofty  style  :  I  go, 
either  to  do  great  deeds  myself,  or  to  give 
another  the  chance  of  doing  them  ;  though 
I  myself  fail  I  shall  not  grudge  it  to 
another  to  do  nobly. 

Let  it  be  granted  that  this  is  above  us ; 
still  can  we  not  at  least  rise  to  the  height 
of  that  ?  And  whither  shall  I  flee  from 
death  ?  declare  to  me  the  place  ;  declare 
to  me  the  men  among  whom  I  shall  go,  to 
whom  death  comes  never  near ;  declare 
to  me  the  charms  against  it.  If  I  have 
none,  what  would  you  have  me  do  ?  I 
cannot  escape  death  —  shall  I  not  then 
escape  the  fear  of  death  ?  shall  I  die 
lamenting  and  trembling  ? 

In  this  is  the  source  of  suffering,  to 
wish  for  something,  and  that  it  should 
not  come  to  pass  ;  and  thence  it  is  that 
when  I  am  able  to  alter  outward  things 
at  my  desire,  I  do  so,  but  when  not,  I 
am  ready  to  tear  out  the  eyes  of  him  that 
hinders  me.      For    man    is   so   made   by 


fcs*rej23- 


108 


nature  that  he  will  not  bear  to  be  de- 
prived of  the  Good  nor  to  fall  into  the 
Evil.  And  in  the  end,  when  I  am  neither 
able  to  alter  outward  things  nor  to  tear 
out  the  eyes  of  him  that  hinders  me,  I 
sit  down  and  groan  and  rail  on  whom- 
ever I  can,  Zeus  and  the  other  Gods  ;  — 
for  if  they  neglect  me,  what  have  I  to  do 
with  them  ? 

Yea,  but  thou  wilt  be  an  impious  man. 

And  how  shall  I  be  worse  off  than  I 
am  now  ?  Here  is  the  whole  matter : 
Remember  that  unless  religion  and  profit 
meet  in  the  same  thing,  religion  cannot 
be  saved  in  any  man.  Do  not  these 
things  mightily  convince  of  their  truth  ? 

Let  the  Pyrrhonist  and  the  Academic 
come  and  make  their  attack  —  I,  for  my 
part,  have  no  leisure  for  such  discussions, 
nor  am  I  able  to  argue  in  defence  of 
general  consent.  For  if  I  had  a  suit 
about  a  little  piece  of  land,  would  I  not 
call  in  another  to  argue  for  me  ?   Where- 


v 


tlhtHtt) 


IO9 


"1 


with  shall  I  be  satisfied  ?  With  that 
which  concerns  the  matter  in  hand. 
How  perception  takes  place,  whether  by 
the  whole  man  or  by  parts,  perhaps  I 
know  not  how  to  declare  :  both  opinions 
perplex  me.  But  that  you  and  I  are  not 
the  same  I  know  very  clearly. 

Whence  know  you  this  ? 

Never,  when  I  wish  to  eat,  do  I  carry 
the  morsel  to  another  man's  mouth,  but 
to  my  own.  Never,  when  I  wish  to 
take  a  piece  of  bread,  do  I  lay  hold  of  a 
broom,  but  I  always  go  to  the  bread,  as 
to  a  mark.  And  you  who  deny  the  truth 
of  perception,  what  do  you  other  than  I  ? 
Which  of  you,  desiring  to  go  to  the  bath, 
ever  went  into  a  mill  ? 

What  then  ?  Ought  we  not,  accord- 
ing to  our  abilities,  to  busy  ourselves 
with  the  upholding  of  general  consent, 
and  raising  defences  against  all  that  op- 
pose the  same  ? 

And  who  denies  it  ?     But  let  him  do 


.*.  <.       .  -   ■■<    i    i    i- 


no 


Ill 


i 


HOW   WE    SHOULD    THINK    AS    GOD'S    OFF- 
SPRING 

If  those  things  are  true  which  are  said 
by  philosophers  concerning  the  kinship  of 
God  and  men,  what  else  remains  for  men 
to  do  than  after  Socrates'  way,  who  never, 
when  men  inquired  of  him  what  was  his 
native  country,  replied  Athens  or  Corinth, 
but  the  universe.  For  why  will  you  say 
you  are  an  Athenian,  and  not  rather 
name  yourself  from  that  nook  alone  into 
which  your  wretched  body  was  cast  at 
birth  ? 

Is  it  not  plainly  from  the  lordlier 
place,  and  that  which  contains  not  only 
that  nook  and  all  thy  household,  but  also 
the  whole  land  whence  the  race  of  your 
ancestors  has  come  down  even  to  you, 


112 


t> 


•    sN  * 


l'Vv 


that  you  call  yourself  Athenian  or  Corin- 
thian ? 

Whoever,  therefore,  has  watched  the 
governance  of  the  universe,  and  has 
learned  that  the  greatest  and  mightiest 
and  amplest  of  all  societies  is  that  which 
is  composed  of  mankind  and  of  God ; 
and  that  from  Him  have  descended  the 
seeds  not  only  to  my  father  alone,  nor 
to  my  grandfather,  but  to  all  creatures 
that  are  conceived  and  born  upon  the 
earth  (but  especially  to  reasoning  beings, 
since  to  these  alone  has  Nature  given  it 
to  have  communion  and  intercourse  with 
God,  being  linked  with  Him  through 
Reason),  —  wherefore  should  such  a  one 
not  name  himself  a  citizen  of  the  uni- 
verse ;  wherefore  not  a  son  of  God  ? 
wherefore  shall  he  fear  anything  that 
may  come  to  pass  among  men  ? 

And  shall  kinship  with  Caesar,  or  with 
some  other  of  those  that  are  mighty  at 
Rome,  be  enough  to  let  us  live  in  safety 


113 


and  undespised  and  fearing  nothing  at 
all ;  but  to  have  God  for  our  maker  and 
father  and  guardian,  shall  this  not  avail 
to  deliver  us  from  griefs  and  fears  ? 

But    I    have    no    money,  says   one 
whence  shall  I  have  bread  to  eat  ? 

Are  you  not  ashamed  to  be  more 
cowardly  and  spiritless  than  fugitive 
slaves  are  ?  How  do  they  leave  their 
masters  when  they  run  away  ?  in  what 
estates  do  they  put  their  trust  ?  in  what 
servants  ?  After  stealing  a  little  to  serve 
them  for  the  first  few  days,  do  they  not 
afterwards  journey  by  land  and  sea,  and 
make  their  living  by  one  device  after 
another  ?  And  when  did  ever  any  fugi- 
tive slave  die  of  hunger  ?  But  you 
tremble  and  sleep  not  of  nights,  for  fear 
lest  the  necessaries  of  life  fail  you. 

Wretched  man  !  are  you  thus  blind  ? 
and  see  not  the  road  whither  the  want  of 
necessaries  leads  a  man  ?  And  whither 
leads  it  ?     To  the  same  place  that  a  fever 


114 


does,  or  a  falling  rock  —  to  death.  Have 
you  not  often  said  this  to  your  friends  ? 
and  often  read  aloud  these  things,  and 
written  them  ?  and  how  often  have  you 
vaunted  yourself  that  you  were  at  peace 
about  death  ? 

Yea,  but  my  dear  ones  shall  also  suffer 
hunger. 

What  then  ?  Does  their  hunger  lead 
to  any  other  place  than  yours  ?  Do 
they  not  descend  where  you  descend  ? 
Is  there  not  one  underworld  for  them 
and  you  ?  Will  you  not,  then,  be  bold 
in  all  poverty  and  need,  looking  to  that 
place  whither  the  wealthiest  of  men  and 
the  mightiest  governors,  yea,  and  even 
kings  and  tyrants,  must  go  down  ;  you, 
it  may  be,  hungry,  and  they  bursting 
with   indigestion  and  drunkenness  ? 

How  seldom  is  it  that  a  beggar  is  seen 
that  is  not  an  old  man,  and  even  of  ex- 
ceeding age  ?  but  freezing  by  night  and 
day,  and  lying  on  the  ground,  and  eating 


I 


us 


«.\*f_ 


only  what  is  barely  necessary,  they  come 
near  to  being  unable  to  die.  Can  you 
not  transcribe  writings  ?  can  you  not 
teach  children  ?  or  be  some  man's  door- 
keeper ? 

But  it  is  shameful  to  come  to  such  a 
necessity  ! 

Then  first  of  all  learn  what  things  are 
shameful,  and  afterwards  tell  us  you  are 
a  philosopher.  But  at  present  suffer  not 
even  another  man  to  call  you  so. 

Is  that  shameful  to  you  which  is  not 
your  own  doing,  whereof  you  are  not  the 
cause,  which  comes  to  you  without  your 
will,  like  a  headache  or  a  fever  ?  If  your 
parents  were  poor,  or  made  others  their 
heirs,  or  are  alive  and  give  you  nothing, 
are  these  things  shameful  to  you  ?  Is 
this  what  you  have  learned  from  the 
philosophers  ?  Have  you  never  heard 
that  what  is  shameful  is  blamable  ;  and 
that  which  is  blamable  ought  to  be 
blamed  ? 


Il6 


><i&k 


But  what  man  will  you  blame  for  a 
work  not  his  own,  one  that  he  himself 
never  did  ?  And  did  you  make  your 
father  such  as  he  is  ?  or  was  it  in  your 
power  to  correct  him  ?  —  is  it  given  you 
to  do  this  ? 

What  then  ?  Ought  you  to  desire 
what  is  not  given  to  you  ?  or  to  be 
ashamed  if  you  attain  it  not  ?  Or  have 
you  been  accustomed,  in  philosophy,  to 
look  to  others,  and  to  hope  for  nothing 
from  yourself  ? 

Lament,  therefore,  and  groan,  and  eat 
your  bread  in  fear,  lest  you  have  nothing 
to  eat  on  the  morrow.  Tremble  for 
your  slaves,  lest  they  steal,  or  run  away, 
or  die.  Live  thus,  now  and  ever,  having 
approached  to  the  name  only  of  phi- 
losophy, and  brought  the  precepts  of  it 
to  shame,  as  far  as  in  you  lies,  showing 
them  to  be  worthless  and  useless  to  those 
who  adopt  them  ;  you,  who  have  never 
striven  to  gain  steadfastness,  tranquillity, 


:<v< 


117 


man 


the  sake  of  these  things,  but  upon  many 
for  the  sake  of  learning  syllogisms  ;  that 
never  tested  for  your  own  self  any  one 
of  these  appearances :  —  Am  I  able  to 
bear  it,  or  am  I  not  able  ?  What,  then, 
remains  for  me  to  do  ? 

But,  as  if  all  went  fairly  and  safely 
with  you,  you  abide  in  the  final  part 
of  philosophy,  that  which  confirms 
beyond  all  change  —  and  wherein  will 
you  be  confirmed  ?  in  cowardice,  mean- 
ness, admiration  of  wealth,  in  vain  pur- 
suit, and  vain  efforts  to  avoid  ?  These 
are  the  things  you  meditate  how  to 
preserve  unharmed. 

Should  you  not  first  have  gained 
something  from  Reason,  and  then  forti- 
fied this  with  safety  ?  Whom  did  you 
ever  see  building  a  coping  round  about, 
and  never  a  wall  on  which  to  place  it  ? 
And  what  door-keeper  is  set  on  guard 
where  there  is  no  door  ? 


uS 


L 


But  your  study  is  how  to  prove  propo- 
sitions—  and  what  proposition?  How 
the  billows  of  false  reasonings  may 
not  sweep  you  away  —  and  away  from 
what  ? 

Show  me  first  what  thing  you  are 
guarding,  or  measuring,  or  weighing  ;  and 
afterwards  the  scales  or  the  measuring- 
rod.  Or  how  long  will  you  still  be 
measuring  the  dust  ?  Are  not  these  the 
things  it  behoves  thee  to  prove  :  —  what 
it  is  that  makes  men  happy,  what  makes 
things  proceed  as  we  would  have  them, 
how  one  should  blame  no  man,  accuse 
no  man,  and  fit  oneself  to  the  ordering 
of  the  All  ?     Yea,  prove  me  these  ! 

But  I  do  so,  he  says.  See  !  I  resolve 
you  syllogisms.  Slave  !  this  is  the  meas- 
uring-rod —  it  is  not  the  thing  measured. 
Wherefore  now  you  pay  the  penalty  for 
philosophy  neglected  ;  you  tremble,  you 
lie  awake  at  nights,  you  seek  counsel  on 
every  hand,  and  if  the  counsels  are  not 


..—s. 


kB&^" 


119 


pleasing  to  all  men,  you  think  they  were 
ill-counselled. 

Then  you  fear  hunger,  as  you  suppose. 
But  it  is  not  hunger  that  you  fear  —  you 
fear  you  will  have  no  cook,  or  any  one 
else  to  buy  victuals  for  you,  or  another 
to  take  off  your  boots,  or  another  to 
put  them  on,  or  others  to  rub  down,  or 
others  to  follow  you  about,  so  that  when 
you  have  stripped  yourself  in  the  bath, 
and  stretched  yourself  out  as  if  you  were 
crucified,  you  may  be  rubbed  to  and  fro, 
and  then  the  rubber  standing  by  may  say, 
Turn  him  round,  give  me  his  side,  take 
hold  of  his  head,  let  me  have  his  shoulder ; 
and  then  when  you  leave  the  bath  and 
go  home  you  may  shout,  Is  no  one  bring- 
ing anything  to  eat  ?  and  then,  Take 
away  the  plates,  and  wipe  them. 

This  is  what  you  fear,  —  lest  you  be 
not  able  to  live  like  a  sick  man.  But 
learn  how  those  live  that  are  in  health  — 
slaves,  and  labourers,  and  true  philoso- 


120 


phers  ;  how  Socrates  lived,  who  moreover 
had  a  wife  and  children  ;  how  Diogenes 
lived  ;  how  Cleanthes,  who  studied  in 
the  schools  and  drew  his  own  water. 

If  you  would  have  these  things,  they 
are  everywhere  to  be  had,  and  you  will 
live  boldly.  Bold  in  what  ?  In  that 
wherein  alone  it  is  possible  to  be  bold  — 
in  that  which  is  faithful,  which  cannot  be 
hindered,  which  cannot  be  taken  away. 
But  why  have  you  made  yourself  so 
worthless  and  useless  that  no  one  is  will- 
ing to  receive  you  into  his  house  or  take 


care  of 


you 


Now  if  any  utensil  were  thrown  away, 
and  it  were  sound  and  serviceable,  any 
one  that  found  it  would  pick  it  up  and 
think  it  a  gain ;  but  no  man  would  pick 
you  up,  or  count  you  anything  but  loss. 
So  you  cannot  so  much  as  serve  the 
purpose  of  a  watch-dog,  or  a  cock  ? 
Why,  then,  will  you  still  live,  being  such 
a  man  as  you  are  ? 


121 


Does  any  good  man  fear  lest  the 
means  of  gaining  food  fail  him  ?  They 
fail  not  the  blind,  or  the  lame ;  shall 
they  fail  a  good  man  ?  To  the  good 
soldier  there  fails  not  one  who  gives  him 
pay,  nor  to  the  labourer,  nor  to  the  shoe- 
maker; and  shall  such  a  one  fail  to  the 
good  man  ? 

Is  God,  then,  careless  of  his  instru- 
ments, his  servants,  his  witnesses,  whom 
alone  he  uses  to  show  forth  to  the  un- 
taught what  he  is,  and  that  he  governs 
all  things  well,  and  is  not  careless  of 
human  things  ?  and  that  to  a  good  man 
there  is  no  evil,  either  in  life  or  in 
death  ? 

How,  then,  when  He  leaves  them 
without  food  ? 

How  else  is  this  than  as  when  a  good 
general  gives  me  the  signal  for  retreat  ? 
I  obey,  I  follow,  praising  my  leader  and 
hymning  his  works.  For  I  came  when 
it  pleased  him,  and  when  it  pleases  him 


122 


v 


I  will  go.  In  my  lifetime  also  my  work 
was  to  sing  the  praise  of  God,  both 
alone  to  myself,  and  to  single  persons, 
and  in  presence  of  many.  He  does  not 
provide  me  with  many  things,  or  with 
great  abundance  of  goods ;  he  will  not 
have  me  live  delicately. 

Neither  did  he  provide  so  for  Heracles, 
his  own  son,  but  another  man  reigned 
over  Argos  and  Mykenai,  while  he 
obeyed  and  laboured  and  was  disciplined. 
And  Eurystheus  was  what  he  was  —  no 
king  of  Argos  and  Mykenai,  since  he 
was  not  king  even  of  himself;  and  Her- 
acles was  lord  and  leader  of  all  the  earth 
and  sea,  for  he  purged  them  of  lawless- 
ness and  wrong,  and  brought  in  right- 
eousness and  holiness  ;  naked  and  alone 
did  he  this. 

And  when  Odysseus  was  shipwrecked 
and  cast  away,  did  his  need  humble  him 
one  whit  or  break  his  spirit  ?  But  how 
did  he  go  out  to  the  maidens,  to  beg  for 


OT 


_— i 


123 


:■>  r#* 


the  necessaries  of  life,  which  it  is  held 

most  shameful  to  seek  from  another  ? 

'< 

*'  Even  as  a  lion  from  his  mountain  home, 
So  went  Odysseus  trusting  in  his  valour." 
—  Odyssey,  vi.   130. 

Trusting  in  what  ?  Not  in  fame  or 
wealth,  but  in  his  own  valour  —  that  is, 
his  opinions  of  the  things  that  are  and 
are  not  in  our  power.  For  these  alone 
make  men  free  and  unhindered ;  lift  up 
the  heads  of  the  abject,  and  bid  them 
look  rich  men  and  tyrants  steadily  in  the 
face.     And  this  was  the  gift  of  the  phi- 


losopher ;  but  you  will   never   go  forth 

A./SG 

boldly,  but  trembling  for  your  fine  rai- 
ment and  silver  dishes.     Miserable  man  ! 
have  you   indeed  thus  wasted    all    your 

/i£?wd 

time  till  now  ? 

aV5S»^»* 

•v*\f?  ^ffiy%*ft*  ^^jjfa^/^&^*^i^^^<^^  p$?^%. 

;. 

■— 

124 


A        ^^p? 

Tut **j 

lyjwji 

^>        1 

rV^P 

^r^\ 

IX. 

THE    OPEN    DOOR 

For  my  part  I  think  the  old  man 
should  be  sitting  here,  not  to  devise  how 
you  may  have  no  mean  thoughts,  or 
speak  no  mean  nor  ignoble  things  about 
yourselves,  but  to  watch  that  there  arise 
not  among  us  youths  of  such  a  mind, 
that  when  they  have  perceived  their  kin- 
ship with  the  Gods,  and  how  the  flesh 
and  its  possessions  are  laid  upon  us  like 
bonds,  and  how  many  necessities  for  the 
management  of  life  are  by  them  brought 
upon  us,  they  may  desire  to  fling  these 
things  away  for  abhorred  and  intolerable 
burdens,  and  depart  unto  their  kin.  And 
this  is  what  your  master  and  teacher  — 
if,  in  sooth,  you  had  any  such  —  should 
have  to  contend  with  in  you,  —  that  you 
should  come  to  him  and  say, 


125 


1) 


Epictetus,  we  can  endure  no  longer 
being  bound  to  this  body,  giving  it  food 
and  drink,  and  resting  it  and  cleansing 
it,  and  going  about  to  court  one  man 
after  another  for  its  sake.  Are  not  such 
things  indifferent  and  nothing  to  us  ? 
And  is  not  Death  no  evil  ?  Are  we  not 
in  some  way  kinsmen  of  God,  and  did 
we  not  come  from  him  ?  Let  us  depart 
to  whence  we  came  ;  let  us  be  delivered 
at  last  from  these  bonds  wherewith  we 
are  bound  and  burdened !  Here  are 
robbers,  and  thieves,  and  law  courts,  and 
those  that  are  called  tyrants,  which 
through  the  body  and  its  possessions 
seem  as  if  they  had  some  power  over  us. 
Let  us  show  them  that  they  have  no 
power  over  any  man  ! 

And  to  this  it  should  be  my  part  to 
say,  "  My  friends,  wait  upon  God. 
When  he  himself  shall  give  the  signal 
and  release  you  from  this  service,  then 
are  you  released  unto  him.     But  for  the 


■r.Ti  w 


S^l 


e>*^£> 


126 


present,  bear  to  dwell  in  this  place, 
wherein  he  has  set  you.  Short,  indeed, 
is  this  time  of  your  sojourn,  and  easy  to 
bear  for  those  that  are  so  minded.  For 
what  tyrant  or  what  thief  is  there  any 
longer,  or  what  court  of  law  is  terrible  to 
one  who  thus  makes  nothing  of  the  body 
and  the  possessions  of  it  ?  Remain, 
then,  and  depart  not  without  a  reason." 

Some  such  part  as  this  should  the 
teacher  have  to  play  towards  the  well- 
natured  among  his  disciples. 

How  long,  then,  are  such  injunctions 
to  be  obeyed  ?  as  long  as  it  is  profit- 
able —  that  is  to  say,  as  long  as  I  can  do 
what  becomes  and  befits  me.  Then 
some  men  are  choleric  and  fastidious, 
and  say,  "  I  cannot  sup  with  this  man, 
to  have  to  hear  him  every  day  telling 
how  he  fought  in  Mysia." 

I  told  you,  brother,  how  I  went  up 
the  hill  —  then  again  I  began  to  be  be- 
sieged.  .  .  .     But  another  says,  "  I  pre- 


fer  to  have  my  supper,  and  listen  to  him 
prating  as  long  as  he  likes." 

And  compare  the  gain  on  both  sides 
—  only  do  naught  in  heaviness  or  afflic- 
tion, or  as  supposing  that  you  are  in  evil 
case.  For  to  this  no  man  can  compel 
you.  Does  it  smoke  in  the  chamber  ? 
if  it  is  not  very  much  I  will  stay,  if  too 
much,  I  will  go  out  ;  for  remember  this 
always,  and  hold  fast  to  it,  that  the  door 
is  open. 

You  shall  not  live  in  Nicopolis. 

I  will  not. 

Nor  in  Athens. 

I  will  not  live  in  Athens. 

Nor  in  Rome. 

Neither  in  Rome. 

Live  in  Gyara. 

I  will  live  in  Gyara.  But  living  in 
Gyara  seems  to  me  like  a  great  smoke. 
I  will  depart,  whither  no  man  shall  hin- 
der me  to  dwell  —  for  that  dwelling 
stands  ever  open  to  all. 


128 


p? 

§t§8J{Hgf 

Only    do    it     not    unreasonably,    not 
cowardly,     nor     make     every     common 
chance  an  excuse.      For  again,  it  is  not 
God's  will,  for  he   has  need  of  such  an 
order    of  things,    and    of   such    a    race 
upon    the    earth.      But  if   he    give    the 
signal  for  retreat,  as  he  did  to  Socrates, 
we  must  obey  him  as  our  commander. 

5>^s-"; 

129 


oy 


KNOW    THYSELF 


If  a  man  have  any  advantage  over 
others,  or  think  himself  to  have  it  when 
he  has  it  not,  it  cannot  but  be  that  if  he 
is  an  untaught  man  he  shall  be  puffed  up 
by  it.  Thus  the  tyrant  says,  I  am  mas- 
ter of  all. 

And  what  can  you  give  me  ?  Can 
you  set  my  pursuit  free  of  all  hindrance  ? 
How  is  it  in  you  to  do  that  ?  For  have 
you  the  gift  of  never  falling  into  what 
you  shun  ?  or  never  missing  the  mark 
of  your  desire  ?  And  whence  have  you 
it  ?  Come,  now,  in  a  ship  do  you  trust 
to  yourself  or  to  the  captain  ?  or  in  a 
chariot,  to  anyone  else  than  the  driver  ? 
And   how  will   you   do  with  regard   to 


130 


other  acts  ?  Even  thus.  Where,  then, 
is  your  power  ? 

All  men  minister  to  me. 

And  do  I  not  minister  to  my  plate, 
and  I  wash  it  and  wipe  it,  and  drive  in  a 
peg  for  my  oil-flask  ?  What  then  !  are 
these  things  greater  than  I  ?  Nay,  but 
they  supply  certain  of  my  needs,  and 
for  this  reason  I  take  care  of  them.  Yea, 
and  do  I  not  minister  to  my  ass  ?  Do  I 
not  wash  his  feet  and  groom  him  ? 
Know  you  not  that  every  man  ministers 
to  himself?  And  he  ministers  to  you 
also,  even  as  he  does  to  the  ass.  For 
who  treats  you  as  a  man  ?  Show  me 
one  that  does.  Who  wishes  to  be  like 
you  ?  who  becomes  your  imitator,  as 
men  did  of  Socrates  ? 

But  I  can  cut  off  your  head. 

You  say  well.  I  had  forgotten  that 
I  must  pay  regard  to  you  as  to  a  fever  or 
the  cholera ;  and  set  up  an  altar  to  you, 
as  there  is  in  Rome  an  altar  to  Fever. 


*    .  . 


131 


K/-.^-i£j£?  V*  i-^*i 


What  is  it,  then,  whereby  the  multi- 
tude   is    troubled   and   terrified  ?      The 
tyrant  and  his   guards  ?     Never  —  God 
forbid  it !      It  is  not  possible  that  that 
which    is    by    nature    free    should    be 
troubled  by  any  other  thing,  or  hindered, 
save    by  itself.      But  it  is  troubled    by 
opinions    of    things.       For    when    the 
tyrant  says  to  anyone,  I  will  bind  thy 
leg,  then  he  who  sets  store  by  his  leg 
says,  Nay,  have  pity  !    but  he  that  sets 
store  by  his  own  Will,  If  it  seem  more 
profitable  to  you,  then  bind  it. 

"  Do  you  not  regard  me  ?  " 

I  do  not  regard  you.  I  will  show  you 
that  I  am  master.  How  can  you  be 
that  ?  God  has  set  me  free ;  or  think 
you  that  he  would  let  his  own  son  be 
enslaved  ?  You  are  lord  of  my  dead 
body  —  take  that. 

"  So  when  you  come  near  to  me, 

you  will  not  do  me  service  ?  ' 

Nay,  but  I  will  do  it  to  myself;  and 


132 


if  you  will  have  me  say  that  I  do  it  to 
you  also,  I  tell  you  that  I  do  it  as  to  my 
kitchen  pot. 

This  is  no  selfishness  ;  for  every  liv- 
ing creature  is  so  made  that  it  does  all 
things  for  its  own  sake.  For  the  sun 
does  all  things  for  his  sake,  and  so, 
moreover,  even  Zeus  himself.  But  when 
he  will  be  Raingiver  and  Fruitgiver  and 
Father  of  Gods  and  men,  you  see  that 
he  may  not  do  these  works  and  have 
these  titles,  without  being  serviceable  to 
the  common  good.  And,  on  the  whole, 
he  has  so  formed  the  nature  of  the  rea- 
soning creature  that  he  may  never  win 
any  good  of  his  own  without  furnishing 
something  of  service  to  the  common 
good.  Thus  it  is  not  to  the  excluding 
of  the  common  good  that  a  man  do  all 
things  for  himself.  For  is  it  to  be  ex- 
pected that  a  man  shall  stand  aloof  from 
himself  and  his  own  interest  ?  And 
where,  then,  would    be  that    same   and 


133 


<i 


•  Ssr    - 


act 


single  principle  which  we  observe  in  all 
things,  their  affection  to  themselves  ? 

So,  then,  when  we  act  on  strange  and 
foolish  opinions  of  things  beyond  the 
Will,  as  if  they  were  good  or  evil,  it  is 
altogether  impossible  but  we  shall  do 
service  to  tyrants.  And  would  it  were 
to  the  tyrants  alone,  and  not  to  their 
lackeys   also  ! 

But  what  hinders  the  man  that  has 
distinguished  these  things  to  live  easily 
and  docile,  looking  calmly  on  all  that  is 
to  be  and  bearing  calmly  all  that  is  past  ? 

Will  you  have  me  bear  poverty  ? 

Come,  and  see  what  poverty  is  when 
it  strikes  one  that  knows  how  to  play  the 
part  well. 

Will  you  have  me  rule  ? 

Give  me  power,  then,  and  the  pains 
of  it. 

Banishment  ?  Wherever  I  go,  it  shall 
be  well  with  me ;  for  in  this  place  it 
was   well  with  me,  not  because  of  the 


134 


place,  but  because  of  the  opinions  which 
I  shall  carry  away  with  me.  For  these 
no  man  can  deprive  me  of.  Yea,  these 
only  are  mine  own,  whereof  I  can  not 
be  deprived,  and  they  suffice  for  me  as 
long  as  I  have  them,  wherever  I  be,  or 
whatever  I  do. 

"But  now  is  the  time  come  to 

die." 

What  say  you  ?  to  die  ?  Nay,  make 
no  tragedy  of  the  business,  but  tell  it  as 
it  is.  Now  is  it  time  for  my  substance 
to  be  resolved  again  into  the  things 
wherefrom  it  came  together.  And  what 
is  dreadful  in  this  ?  What  of  the  things 
in  the  universe  is  about  to  perish  ?  What 
new,  or  what  unaccountable  thing  is  about 
to  come  to  pass  ?  Is  it  for  these  things 
that  a  tyrant  is  feared  ?  through  these 
that  the  guards  seem  to  bear  swords  so 
large  and  sharp  ? 

Tell  that  to  others;  but  by  me  all 
these    things   have  been    examined ;    no 


135 


has  power  on  me.  I  have  been 
set  free  by  God,  I  know  his  command- 
ments, henceforth  no  man  can  lead  me 
captive.  I  have  a  liberator  such  as  I 
need,  and  judges  such  as  I  need.  Are 
you  not  the  master  of  my  body  ?  What 
is  that  to  me  ?  Of  my  property  ?  What 
is  that  to  me  ?  Of  exile  or  captivity  ? 
Again,  I  say,  from  all  these  things,  and 
the  poor  body  itself,  I  will  depart  when 
you  will.  Try  your  power,  and  you 
shall  know  how  far  it  reaches. 

But  the  tyrant  will  bind  —  what  ? 
The  leg.  He  will  take  away  what  ? 
The  head.  What,  then,  can  he  not 
bind  and  not  take  away  ?  The  Will. 
And  hence  that  precept  of  the  ancients 
—  Know  thyself. 

Whom,  then,  can  I  still  fear  ?  The 
lackeys  of  the  bedchamber  ?  For  what 
that  they  can  do  ?  Shut  me  out  ?  Let 
them  shut  me  out,  if  they  find  me  wish- 
ing to  go  in. 


136 


^r^-— ~-^^ -^^^I^-^^CF^y^ 

■« 

"Why,  then,  did  you  go  to  the 

doors  ?  " 

Because  I  hold  it  proper  to  join  the 
play  while  the  play  lasts. 

\Jf\Ljj?j/ 

"■  ■■          nuw^    Liicii^    Mitiu    you    not    oc 
shut  out  ? " 

Because  if  I  am  not  received,  I  do  not 
wish  to  enter;    but  always    that  which 
happens    is   what    I  wish.      For   I   hold 
what  God  wills  above  what  I  will.      I 
cleave  to  him  as  his  servant  and  follower ; 
my  impulses  are  one  with  his,  my  pursuit 
is  one  with  his ;  in  a  word,  my  will  is 
one  with  his. 

There   is  no  shutting  out  for  me  — 
nay,  but  for  those  who  would  force  their 
way  in.     And  wherefore  do  I  not  force 
my  way  ?     Because  I  know  that  no  good 
thing  is  dealt   out   within  to  those  that 
enter.      But  when  I  hear  some  one  con- 
gratulated on  being  honoured  by  Caesar, 
I  say,  What  has  fortune  brought  him  ? 
A    government  ?      Has     it     also,    then, 

3  *..*■.£>           J)] 

,  X 

137 


31»  ■ 


sm 


*Jj? 


W>A 


to 


^"•"■HillHMiiiuihinlUMW1* 


brought  him  such  an  opinion  as  he 
ought  to  have  ?  A  magistracy  ?  Has 
he  also  gained  the  power  to  be  a  good 
magistrate  ? 

Why  will  I  still  push  myself  forward  ? 
A  man  scatters  figs  and  almonds  abroad  ; 
children  seize  them,  and  fight  among 
themselves ;  but  not  so  men,  for  they 
hold  it  too  trifling  a  matter.  And  if  a 
man  should  scatter  about  oyster-shells, 
not  even  the  children  would  seize  them. 
Offices  of  government  are  dealt  out  — 
children  will  look  for  them ;  money  is 
given — children  will  look  for  it;  mili- 
tary commands,  consulships  —  let  chil- 
dren scramble  for  them.  Let  them  be 
shut  out  and  smitten,  let  them  kiss  the 
hands  of  the  giver,  of  his  slaves  —  it  is 
figs  and  almonds  to  me.  What  then  ? 
If  you  miss  them  when  he  is  flinging 
them  about,  let  it  not  vex  you.  If  a  fig 
fall  into  your  bosom,  take  and  eat  it,  for 
so  far  even  a  fig  is  to  be  valued.     But  if 


138 


139 


L_ 


HOW    WE    SHOULD    BEAR    OURSELVES 
TOWARD    EVIL    MEN 

If  that  which  the  philosophers  say  is 
true  —  that  there  is  one  principle  in 
all  men,  as  when  I  assent  to  something, 
the  feeling  that  it  is  so  j  and  when  I 
dissent,  the  feeling  that  it  is  not  so ;  yea, 
and  when  I  withhold  my  judgment,  the 
feeling  that  it  is  uncertain  ;  and  likewise, 
when  I  am  moved  toward  anything,  the 
feeling  that  it  is  for  my  profit,  but  it  is 
impossible  to  judge  one  thing  to  be 
profitable  and  to  pursue  another,  to  judge 
one  thing  right  and  be  moved  toward 
another  —  why  have  we  indignation  with 
the  multitude  ?  They  are  robbers,  says 
one,  and  thieves. 

And    what    is   it   to    be    robbers    and 


>"->™I 


tr-.r-t^.. 


140 


'■ 

(^YV^^S^i^^^^^'^S^^^^**/'^/^^^ 

thieves  ?  It  is  to  err  concerning  things 
good  and  evil.  Shall  we,  then,  have 
indignation  with  them,  or  shall  we  pity 
them  ?  Nay,  but  show  them  the  error, 
and  you  shall  see  how  they  will  cease 
from  their  sins.  But  if  they  see  it  not, 
they  have  nothing  better  than  the  appear- 
ance of  the  thing  to  them. 

Should  not,  then,  this  robber,  or  this 
adulterer,  be  destroyed  ? 

By  no  means,  but  take  it  rather  this 
way :  This  man  who  errs  and  is  de- 
ceived concerning  things  of  greatest 
moment,  who  is  blinded,  not  in  the 
vision  which  distinguishes  black  and 
white,  but  in  the  judgment  which  dis- 
tinguishes Good  and  Evil  —  should  we 
not  destroy  him  ?  And  thus  speaking, 
you  shall  know  how  inhuman  is  that 
which  you  say,  and  how  like  as  if  you 
said,  Shall  we  not  destroy  this  blind  man, 
this  deaf  man  ? 

For  if  it  is  the  greatest  injury  to  be 

^S£*  i  n  §\ 

••  - 

141 


deprived  of  the  greatest  things,  and  the 
greatest  thing  in  every  man  is  a  Will 
such  as  he  ought  to  have,  and  one  be 
deprived  of  this,  why  are  you  still  in- 
dignant with  him  ?  Man,  you  should 
not  be  moved  contrary  to  Nature  by  the 
evil  deeds  of  other  men.  Pity  him  rather, 
be  not  inclined  to  offence  and  hatred, 
abandon  the  phrases  of  the  multitude, 
like  "  these  cursed  wretches."  How 
have  you  suddenly  become  so  wise  and 
hard  to  please  ? 

Wherefore,  then,  are  we  indignant  ? 
Because  we  worship  the  things  which 
they  deprive  us  of.  Do  not  worship 
fine  raiment,  and  you  shall  not  be  wroth 
with  the  thief.  Do  not  worship  the 
beauty  of  a  woman,  and  you  shall  not  be 
wroth  with  the  adulterer.  Know  that  the 
thief  and  the  adulterer  have  no  part  in 


that   which    is 


your 


own, 


but 


in 


that 


which  is  foreign  to  you,  in  that  which  is 
not  in  your  power.     These  things  if  you 


142 


dismiss,  and  count  them  for  naught,  with 
whom  will  you  still  be  wroth  ?  But  as 
long  as  you  value  these  things,  be  wroth 
with  yourself  rather  than  with  others. 

Look  now  how  it  stands  :  You  have 
fine  raiment,  your  neighbour  has  not ; 
you  have  a  window,  and  wish  to  air  your 
clothes  at  it.  The  neighbour  knows 
not  what  is  the  true  good  of  man,  but 
thinks  it  is  to  have  fine  raiment,  the 
same  thing  that  you  also  think.  Then 
shall  he  not  come  and  take  them  away  ? 
Show  a  cake  to  greedy  persons,  and  eat 
it  up  yourself  alone,  and  will  you  have 
them  not  snatch  at  it  ?  Nay,  but  pro- 
voke them  not.  Have  no  window,  and 
do  not  air  your  clothes.  I  also  had  lately 
an  iron  lamp  set  beside  the  images  of 
the  Gods ;  hearing  a  noise  at  the  door, 
I  ran  down,  and  found  the  lamp  carried 
ofF.  I  reflected  that  the  thief  s  impulse 
was  not  unnatural.  What  then  ?  To- 
morrow, I  said,  you  will  find  an  earthen 


***», 


W&- 


rf 


143 


lamp.  For  a  man  loses  only  what  he 
has.  I  have  lost  a  garment.  For  you 
had  a  garment.  I  have  a  pain  in  my 
head.  Have  you  any  pain  in  your  horns  ? 
Why,  then,  are  you  indignant  ?  For 
there  is  no  loss  and  no  suffering  save 
only  in  those  things  which  we  possess. 


144 


XII. 


THE    VOYAGE    OF    LIFE 


Even  as  in  a  sea  voyage,  when  the 
ship  is  brought  to  anchor,  and  you  go 
out  to  fetch  in  water,  you  make  a  by- 
work  of  gathering  a  few  roots  and  shells 
by  the  way,  but  have  need  ever  to  keep 
your  mind  fixed  on  the  ship,  and  con- 
stantly to  look  round,  lest  at  any  time 
the  master  of  the  ship  call,  and  you  must, 
if  he  call,  cast  away  all  those  things,  lest 
you  be  treated  like  the  sheep  that  are 
bound  and  thrown  into  the  hold  :  So  it 
is  with  human  life  also.  And  if  there 
be  given  wife  and  children  instead  of 
shells  and  roots,  nothing  shall  hinder  us 
to  take  them.  But  if  the  master  call, 
run  to  the  ship,  forsaking  all  those  things, 


145 


146 


XIII. 

THE    MARK    OF    EFFORT 

Seek  not  to  have  things  happen  as 
you  chose  them,  but  rather  choose  them 
to  happen  as  they  do,  and  so  shall  you 
live  prosperously. 

Disease  is  a  hindrance  of  the  body, 
not  of  the  Will,  unless  the  Will  itself 
consent.  Lameness  is  a  hindrance  of 
the  leg,  not  of  the  Will.  And  this  you 
may  say  on  every  occasion,  for  nothing 
can  happen  to  you  but  you  will  find  it  a 
hindrance  not  of  yourself  but  of  some 
other  thing. 

What,  then,  are  the  things  that  oppress 
us  and  perturb  us  ?  What  else  than 
opinions  ?  He  that  goes  away  and 
leaves  his  familiars  and  companions  and 
wonted  places  and  habits  —  with  what 
else  is  he  oppressed  than  his  opinions  ? 


147 


L^tvj^^^^^^k 

fciMluY. 

Now,  little  children,  if  they  cry  because 
their  nurse  has  left  them  for  a  while, 
straightway  forget  their  sorrow  when 
they  are  given  a  small  cake.  Will  you 
be  likened  unto  a  little  child  ? 

"  Nay,   by  Zeus  !    for   I    would 

not  be  thus  affected  by  a  little  cake,  but 
by  right  opinions." 

And  what  are  these  ? 

They  are  such  as  a  man  should  study 
all  day  long  to  observe  —  that  he  be  not 
subject  to  the  effects  of  any  thing  that  is 
alien  to  him,  either  of  friend,  or  place, 
or  exercises  ;  yea,  even  of  his  own  body, 
but  to  remember  the  Law,  and  have  it 
ever  before  his  eyes. 

And  what  is  the  divine  Law  ? 

To  hold  fast  that  which  is  his  own, 
and  to  claim  nothing  that  is  another's  ; 
to  use  what  is  given  him,  and  not  to 
covet  what  is  not  given ;  to  yield  up 
easily  and  willingly  what  is  taken  away, 
giving  thanks  for  the  time  that  he  has 

?                                                                                             '     V.t?E>UB. 

148 


had  it  at  his  service.  This  do  —  or  cry 
for  the  nurse  and  mamma ;  for  what 
does  it  matter  to  what  or  whom  you  are 
subject,  from  what  your  welfare  hangs  ? 
Wherein  are  you  better  than  one  who 
bewails  himself  for  his  mistress,  if  you 
lament  your  exercises  and  porticoes  and 
comrades,  and  all  such  pastime  ?  An- 
other comes,  grieving  because  he  shall 
no  more  drink  of  the  water  of  Dirce. 
And  is  the  Marcian  water  worse  than 
that  of  Dirce  ? 

"  But  I  was  used  to  the  other." 

And  to  this  also  thou  shalt  be  used ; 
and  when  you  are  so  affected  toward  it, 
lament  for  it  too,  and  try  to  make  a  verse 
like  that  of  Euripides  : 

'*  The  baths  of  Nero  and  the  Marcian  stream." 

Behold  how  tragedies  are  made,  when 
common  chances  happen  to  foolish  men  ! 

"  But  when  shall   I  see  Athens 

and  the  Acropolis  again  ?  " 


"\ 


149 


^y 


Wretched  man  !  does  not  that  which 
you  see  every  day  satisfy  you  ?  Have 
you  anything  better  or  greater  to  see 
than  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars,  the 
common  earth,  the  sea  ? 

But  if  withal  you  mark  the  way  of 
him  that  governs  the  whole,  and  bear 
him  about  within  thee,  will  you  still  long 
for  cut  stones  and  a  fine  rock  ?  And 
when  you  come  to  leave  the  sun  itself 
and  the  moon,  what  will  you  do  ?  Sit 
down   and  cry,  like  the  children  ? 

What,  then,  were  you  doing  in  the 
school  ?  What  did  you  hear,  what  did 
you  learn  ?  Why  did  you  write  yourself 
down  a  philosopher,  when  you  might 
have  written  the  truth,  as  thus :  —  I 
made  certain  beginnings,  and  read  Chry- 
sippus,  but  did  not  so  much  as  enter  the 
door  of  a   philosopher  ? 

For  how  should  you  have  anything  in 
common  with  Socrates,  who  died  as  he 
died,  who  lived   as    he    lived  —  or   with 


i&r>s-.-,- ! 


ISO 


JSU 


Diogenes  ?  Do  you  think  that  any  of 
these  men  lamented  or  was  indignant 
because  he  should  see  such  a  man  or 
such  a  woman  no  more  ?  or  because  he 
should  not  dwell  in  Athens  or  in  Corinth, 
but,  as  it  might  chance,  in  Susa  or 
Ecbatana  ? 

When  a  man  can  leave  the  banquet 
or  the  game  when  he  pleases,  shall  such 
a  one  grieve  if  he  remains  ?  Shall  he 
not,  as  in  a  game,  stay  only  as  long  as 
he  is  entertained  ?  A  man  of  this  stamp 
would  easily  endure  such  a  thing  as  per- 
petual exile  or  sentence  of  death. 

Will  you  not  now  be  weaned  as  chil- 
dren are,  and  take  more  solid  food,  and 
cry  no  more  after  your  mother  and  nurse, 
wailing  like  an  old  woman  ? 

"  But  if  I  quit  them  I  shall  grieve 

them." 

Grieve  them  ?  Never  ;  but  that  shall 
grieve  them  which  grieves  you  —  Opin- 
ion.  What  have  you,  then,  to  do  ?    Cast 


ttj-.b 


ISI 


i 


away  your  own  bad  opinion;  and  they,  if 
they  do  well,  will  cast  away  theirs ;   if 
not,   they  are  the   causes  of  their  own 
amenting. 

Man,  be  mad  at  last,  as  the  saying  is, 
for  peace,  for  freedom,  for  magnanimity. 
Lift  up  your  head,  as  one  delivered  from 
slavery.  Dare  to  look  up  to  God  and 
say  :  Deal  with  me  henceforth  as  thou 
wilt ;  I  am  of  one  mind  with  thee ;  I 
am  thine.  I  reject  nothing  that  seems 
good  to  thee ;  lead  me  whithersoever 
thou  wilt,  clothe  me  in  what  dress  thou 
wilt.  Wilt  thou  have  me  govern  or  live 
privately,  or  stay  at  home,  or  go  into 
exile,  or  be  a  poor  man,  or  a  rich  ?  For 
all  these  conditions  I  will  be  thy  advocate 
with  men  —  I  show  the  nature  of  each 
of  them,  what  it  is. 

Nay,  but  sit  in  a  corner  and  wait  for 
your  mother  to  feed  you. 

Who  would  Heracles  have  been  if  he 
had  sat  at  home  ?      He  would  have  been 


152 


ft 


ix 


Eurystheus,  and  not  Heracles.  And 
how  many  companions  and  friends  had 
he  in  his  journeying  about  the  world  ? 
But  nothing  was  dearer  to  him  than  God; 
and  for  this  he  was  believed  to  be  the 
son  of  God,  yea,  and  was  the  son  of 
God.  And  trusting  in  God,  he  went 
about  purging  away  lawlessness  and 
wrong.  But  you  are  no  Heracles,  and 
can  not  purge  away  evils  not  your  own  ? 
nor  yet  Theseus,  who  cleared  Attica  of 
evil  things  ? 

Then  clear  away  your  own.  From 
your  breast,  from  your  mind  cast  out, 
instead  of  Procrustes  and  Sciron,  grief, 
fear,  covetousness,  envy,  malice,  avarice, 
effeminacy,  profligacy.  And  these  things 
can  not  otherwise  be  cast  out  than  by 
looking  to  God  only,  being  affected  only 
by  him,  and  consecrated  to  his  commands. 
But  choosing  anything  else  than  this, 
you  will  follow  with  groaning  and  lamen- 
tation whatever    is    stronger    than   you, 


153 


154 


FACULTIES 

Remember  at  anything  that  shall  be- 
fall you  to  turn  to  yourself  and  seek  what 
faculty  you  have  for  making  use  of  it. 
If  you  see  a  beautiful  person,  you  will 
find  a  faculty  for  that  —  namely,  self- 
mastery.  If  toil  is  laid  upon  you,  you 
will  find  the  faculty  of  Perseverance.  If 
you  are  reviled,  you  will  find  Patience. 
And  making  this  your  wont,  you  shall 
not  be  carried  away  by  the  appearances. 


155 


C     Viin  l      i^"N 

li^^^^^^ 

■  jJl}I    M^l'jfr 

XV. 

T^~jT"^~ 

RETURNS 

Never  in  any  case  say,  I  have  lost 

such  a  thing,  but  I  have  returned  it.      Is 

our  child  dead  ?  it  is  returned.     Is  your 

wife  dead  ?  she   is    returned.     Are    you 

deprived  of  your  estate  ?  is  not  this  also 

returned  ? 

"  But  he  who  deprives  me  of  it 

is  wicked  !  " 

But  what  is  that  to  you,  through  whom 

the  Giver  demands  his  own  ?     As  long, 

therefore,  as  he  grants  it  to  you,  steward 

it  like  another's   property,  as    travellers 

use  an  inn. 

^A^n^-itf^.  osr^/Ht-^      jatLJ^ 

156 


;*Vf 


XVI. 

THE  PRICE  OF  TRANQUILLITY 

If  you  would  advance  in  philosophy 
you  must  abandon  such  thoughts  as,  If  I 
neglect  my  affairs  I  shall  not  have  the 
means  of  living.  If  I  do  not  correct  my 
servant  he  will  be  good  for  nothing.  For 
it  is  better  to  die  of  hunger,  having  lived 
without  grief  and  fear,  than  to  live  with 
a  troubled  spirit  amid  abundance.  And 
it  is  better  to  have  a  bad  servant  than  an 
afflicted  mind. 

Make  a  beginning,  then,  in  small  mat- 
ters. Is  a  little  of  your  oil  spilt,  or  a 
little  wine  stolen  ?  Then  say  to  your- 
self, For  so  much  peace  is  bought,  this 
is  the  price  of  tranquillity.  For  nothing 
can  be  gained  without  paying  for  it. 
And  when  you  call  your  servant,  bethink 
you  that  he  may  not  hear,  or,  hearing, 


^ 


**ntH 


157 


i58 


XVII. 


A    CHOICE 


If  you  would  advance,  be  content  to 
let  people  think  you  senseless  and  fool- 
ish as  regards  external  things.  Wish 
not  ever  to  seem  wise,  and  if  ever  you 
shall  find  yourself  accounted  to  be  some- 
body, then  mistrust  yourself.  For  know 
that  it  is  not  easy  to  make  a  choice  that 
shall  agree  both  with  outward  things 
and  with  Nature,  but  it  must  needs  be 
that  he  who  is  careful  of  the  one  shall 
neglect  the  other. 


T 


".-•>.■ 


i59 


XVIII. 

WHERE    THE    HEART   IS    THE     BOND    IS 

You  are  a  fool  if  you  desire  wife  and 
children  and  friends  to  live  forever,  for 
that  is  desiring  things  to  be  in  your 
power  which  are  not  in  your  power,  and 
things  pertaining  to  others  to  be  your 
own.  So  also  you  are  a  fool  to  desire 
that  your  servant  should  never  do  any- 
thing amiss,  for  that  is  desiring  evil  not 
to  be  evil,  but  something  else.  But  if 
you  desire  never  to  fail  in  any  pursuit, 
this  you  can  do.  This,  therefore,  prac- 
tise  to  attain  —  namely,  the  attainable. 

The  lord  of  each  of  us  is  he  that  has 
power  over  the  things  that  we  desire  or 
dislike,  to  give  or  to  take  them  away. 
Whoever,  then,  will  be  free,  let  him 
neither  desire  nor  shun  any  of  the  things 


1 60 


T 


^ 


that  are  in  others'  power ;  otherwise  he 
must  needs  be  enslaved. 

Wherefore  Demetrius  said  to  Nero, 
You  threaten  me  with  death,  but  Nature 
threatens  you. 

If  I  am  taken  up  with  my  poor  body, 
or  my  property,  I  have  given  myself 
over  to  slavery ;  for  I  immediately  show 
of  my  own  self  with  what  I  may  be  cap- 
tured. As  when  a  snake  draws  in  his 
head,  I  say,  Strike  at  that  part  of  him 
which  he  guards.  And  know  that  at 
the  part  you  desire  to  guard,  there  your 
master  will  fall  upon  you.  Remember- 
ing this,  whom  will  you  still  flatter  or 
fear  ? 

Think  that  you  should  conduct  your- 
self in  life  as  at  a  feast.  Is  some  dish 
brought  to  you  ?  Then  put  forth  your 
hand  and  help  yourself  in  seemly  fashion. 
Does  it  pass  you  by  ?  Then  hold  it  not 
back.  Has  it  not  yet  come  ?  Then  do 
not  reach  out  for  it  at  a  distance,  but 


:f<CL3 


'-^5-  'L 


161 


wait  till  it  is  at  your  hand.  And  thus 
doing  with  regard  to  children  and  wife 
and  governments  and  wealth,  you  will  be 
a  worthy  guest  at  the  table  of  the  Gods. 
And  if  you  even  pass  over  things  that 
are  offered  to  you,  and  refuse  to  take 
of  them,  then  you  will  not  only  share 
the  banquet,  but  also  the  dominion  of 
the  Gods.  For  so  doing  Diogenes  and 
Heracleitus,  and  the  like,  both  were,  and 
were  reported  to  be,  rightly  divine. 


162 


XIX. 

WE    LAMENT    NOT    FROM    WITHIN 

When  you  see  one  lamenting  in  grief 
because  his  son  is  gone  abroad,  or  be- 
cause he  has  lost  his  goods,  look  to  it 
that  you  be  not  carried  away  by  the  ap- 
pearance to  think  that  he  has  truly  fallen 
into  misfortune,  in  outward  things.  But 
be  the  thought  at  hand,  It  is  not  the 
thing  itself  that  afflicts  this  man  —  since 
there  are  others  whom  it  afflicts  not  — 
but  the  opinion  he  has  about  it.  And 
as  far  as  speech  is  concerned,  be  not 
slow  to  fit  yourself  to  his  mood,  and  even 
if  so  it  be  to  lament  with  him.  But 
have  a  care  that  you  lament  not  also 
from  within. 


163 


XX. 

A    MAN    MAY    ACT    HIS    PART    BUT    NOT 
CHOOSE    IT 


Remember  that  you  are  an  actor  in  a 
play,  of  such  a  part  as  it  may  please  the 
director  to  assign  you  ;  of  a  short  part  if 
he  choose  a  short  part ;  of  a  long  one 
if  he  choose  a  long.  And  if  he  will 
have  you  take  the  part  of  a  poor  man  or 
of  a  cripple,  or  a  governor,  or  a  private 
person,  may  you  act  that  part  with  grace  ! 
For  it  is  yours  to  act  well  the  allotted 


part. 


but  to  choose  it  is  another's. 


Say  no  more  then  How  will  it  be  with 
me  ?  for  however  it  be  you  will  settle  it 
well,  and  the  issue  shall  be  fortunate. 
What  would  Heracles  have  been  had  he 
said,  How  shall  I  contrive  that  a  great 
lion  may  not  appear  to  me,  or  a  great 
boar,  or  a  savage  man  ?     And  what  have 


164 


you  to  do  with  that  ?  if  a  great  boar 
appear,  you  will  fight  the  greater  fight ; 
if  evil  men,  you  will  clear  the  earth  of 
them. 

But  if  I  die  thus  ? 

You  will  die  a  good  man,  in  the  ac- 
complishing of  a  noble  deed.  For  since 
we  must  by  all  means  die,  a  man  cannot 
be  found  but  he  will  be  doing  somewhat, 
either  tilling  or  digging  or  trading  or 
governing,  or  having  an  indigestion  or  a 
diarrhoea.  What  will  you,  then,  that 
Death  shall  find  you  doing  ?  I,  for  my 
part,  will  choose  some  work,  humane, 
beneficent,  social,  noble.  But  if  I  am 
not  able  to  be  found  doing  things  of  this 
greatness,  then,  at  least,  I  will  be  doing 
that  which  none  can  hinder  me  from 
doing,  that  which  is  given  to  me  to  do 
—  namely,  correcting  myself,  bettering 
my  faculty  for  making  use  of  appear- 
ances, working  out  my  peace,  giving 
what  is  due  in  every  obligation  of  life ; 


165 


and  if  I  prosper  so  far,  then  entering 
upon  the  third  topic  of  philosophy,  which 
concerns  the  security  of  judgments. 

If  Death  find  me  in  the  midst  of  these 
studies,  it  shall  suffice  me  if  I  can  lift 
up  my  hands  to  God  and  say, 

The  means  which  thou  gavest  me  for 
the  perceiving  of  thy  government,  and  for 
the  following  of  the  same,  have  I  not 
neglected  :  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  have 
not  dishonoured  thee.  Behold  how  I 
have  used  my  senses,  and  my  natural 
conceptions.  Have  I  ever  blamed  thee  ? 
was  I  ever  offended  at  aught  that  hap- 
pened, or  did  I  desire  it  should  happen 
otherwise  ?  Did  I  ever  desire  to  trans- 
gress my  obligations  ?  That  thou  didst 
beget  me  I  thank  thee  for  what  thou 
gavest :  I  am  content  that  I  have  used 
thy  gifts  so  long.  Take  them  again,  and 
set  them  in  what  place  thou  wilt,  for 
thine  were  all  things,  and  thou  gavest 
them  me. 


e-^-e» 


1 66 


**'  '    '    '  :'  '''■*'"■'/' 


167 


XXI. 


DISTINCTIONS 


,^r>*i 


.'« ■■***■+ 


When  a  raven  croaks  a  bad  omen  for 
you,  be  not  carried  away  by  the  appear- 
ance ;  but  straightway  distinguish  with 
yourself  and  say,  None  of  these  things 
bodes  aught  to  myself,  but  either  to  this 
poor  body  or  this  wretched  property  of 
mine,  or  to  my  good  repute,  or  to  my 
children,  or  to  my  wife.  But  to  me  all 
omens  are  fortunate,  if  I  choose  to  have 
it  so.  For  whatever  of  these  things  may 
come  to  pass,  it  lies  with  me  to  have  it 
serve  me. 

You  may  be  always  victorious  if  you 
will  never  enter  into  any  contest  but 
where  the  victory  depends  upon  your- 
self. 

When  you  shall  see  a  man  honoured 
above   others,   or   mighty   in   power,  or 


1 68 


otherwise  esteemed,  look  to  it  that  you 
deem  him  not  blessed,  being  carried  away 
by  the  appearance.  For  if  the  essence 
of  the  Good  be  in  those  things  that  are 
in  our  own  power,  then  neither  envy  nor 
jealousy  have  any  place,  nor  you  yourself 
shall  not  desire  to  be  commander  or 
prince  or  consul,  but  to  be  free.  And 
to  this  there  is  one  road  —  scorn  of 
the  things  that  are  not  in  our  own 
power. 

Remember :  not  he  that  strikes  or  he 
that  reviles  does  any  man  an  injury,  but 
the  opinion  about  these  things,  that  they 
are  injurious.  When,  then,  someone 
may  provoke  you  to  wrath,  know  that 
it  is  your  own  conception  which  has 
provoked  you.  Strive,  therefore,  at  the 
outset  not  to  be  carried  away  by  the 
appearance ;  for  if  you  once  gain  time 
and  delay,  you  will  more  easily  master 
yourself. 

Death  and  exile,  and  all  things  that 


169 


170 


A    MAN    IS    SUFFICIENT    TO    HIMSELF 

If  you  set  your  heart  on  philosophy, 
prepare  straightway  to  be  laughed  at  and 
mocked  by  many  who  will  say,  Behold, 
he  has  suddenly  come  back  to  us  a 
philosopher;  or,  How  came  you  by  that 
brow  of  scorn  ? 

But  cherish  no  scorn ;  hold  to  those 
things  that  seem  to  you  the  best,  as  one 
set  by  God  in  that  place.  Remember, 
too,  that  if  you  abide  in  that  way,  those 
that  first  mocked  you,  the  same  shall 
afterwards  reverence  you  •,  but  if  you 
yield  to  them,  you  will  receive  double 
mockery. 

If  it  shall  ever  happen  to  you  to  be 
turned  to  outward  things  in  the  desire  to 
please  some  person,  know  that  you  have 
lost  your  way  of  life.     Let  it  be  enough 


171 


172 


XXIII. 

EVERY    MAN    FULFIL    HIS    OWN    TASK. 

Let  such  thoughts  never  afflict  you  as, 
I  shall  live  unhonoured,  and  never  be 
anybody  anywhere. 

For  if  lack  of  honour  be  an  evil,  you 
can  no  more  fall  into  evil  through  an- 
other's doings  than  into  vice.  Is  it,  then, 
of  your  own  doing  to  be  made  a  gov- 
ernor, or  invited  to  feasts  ?  By  no 
means.  How,  then,  is  this  to  be  un- 
honoured  ?  How  should  you  never  be 
anybody  anywhere,  whom  it  behoves  to 
be  somebody  only  in  the  things  that  are 
in  your  own  power,  wherein  it  lies  with 
you  to  be  of  the  greatest  worth  ? 

But  I  shall  not  be  able  to  serve  my 
friends.  How  say  you  ?  to  serve  them  ? 
They  shall   not  have  money  from  you, 


173 


<x 


■^ 


I*  Ss  ■>  ■ 


nor  will  you  make  them  Roman  citizens. 
Who,  then,  told  you  that  these  were  of 
the  things  that  are  in  our  power,  and  not 
alien  to  us  ?  And  who  can  give  that 
which  he  himself  has  not  ? 

Acquire,  then,  they  say,  that  we  may 
possess.  If  I  can  acquire,  and  lose  not 
piety,  and  faith,  and  magnanimity  withal, 
show  me  the  way,  and  I  will  do  it.  But 
if  you  will  have  me  lose  the  good  things 
I  possess,  that  you  may  compass  things 
that  are  not  good  at  all,  how  unjust  and 
unthinking  are  you  !  But  which  will  you 
rather  have  —  money,  or  a  faithful  and 
pious  friend  ?  Then,  rather  take  part 
with  me  to  this  end ;  and  ask  me  not  to 
do  aught  through  which  I  must  cast 
away  those  things. 

But,  he  says,  I  shall  not  do  my  part 
in  serving  my  country. 

Again,  what  is  this  service  ?  Your 
country  shall  not  have  porticos  nor  baths 
from  you,  and  what  then  ?     Neither  has 


174 


she  shoes  from  the  smith,  nor  arms  from 
the  cobbler  ;  but  it  is  enough  if  every 
man  fulfil  his  own  task.  And  if  you 
have  made  one  other  pious  and  faithful 
citizen  for  her,  are  you,  then,  of  no 
service  ?  Wherefore,  neither  will  you 
be  useless  to  your  country. 

What  place,  then,  he  says,  can  I  hold 
in  the  State  ? 

Whatever  place  you  can,  guarding 
still  your  faith  and  piety.  But  if  in 
wishing  to  serve  her  you  cast  away  these 
things,  what  will  you  profit  her  then, 
when  perfected  in  shamelessness  and 
faithlessness  ? 


175 


THE    WORLD'S    PRICE     FOR    THE    WORLD'S 
WORTH 

Is  some  one  preferred  before  you  at  a 
feast,  or  in  salutation,  or  in  being  invited 
to  give  counsel  ?  Then,  if  these  things 
are  good,  it  behoves  you  rejoice  that  he 
has  gained  them ;  but  if  evil,  be  not 
vexed  that  you  have  not  gained  them ; 
but  remember  that  if  you  act  not  as 
other  men  to  gain  the  things  that  are 
not  in  our  own  power,  neither  can  you 
be  held  worthy  of  a  like  reward  with 
them. 

For  how  is  it  possible  for  him  who 
will  not  hang  about  other  men's  doors  to 
have  a  like  reward  with  him  who  so 
does  ?  or  him  who  will  not  attend  on 
them  with  him  who  does  attend  ?  or  him 


176 


who  will  not  flatter  them  with  the  flat- 
terer ?  You  are  unjust,  then,  and  insa- 
tiable, if  you  desire  to  gain  those  things 
for  nothing,  without  paying  the  price  for 
which  they  are  sold. 

But  how  much  is  a  lettuce  sold  for  ? 
A  penny,  perchance.  If  any  one,  then, 
will  spend  a  penny,  he  shall  have  lettuce  ; 
but  you,  not  spending,  shall  not  have. 
But  think  not  you  are  worse  off"  than  he  ; 
for  as  he  has  the  lettuce,  so  you  the 
penny  which  you  would  not  give. 

And  likewise  in  this  matter.  You  are 
not  invited  to  some  man's  feast  ?  That 
is,  for  you  gave  not  to  the  host  the 
price  of  the  supper  ;  and  it  is  sold  for 
flattery,  it  is  sold  for  attendance.  Pay, 
then,  the  price,  if  it  will  profit  you,  for 
which  the  thing  is  sold.  But  if  you  will 
not  give  the  price,  and  will  have  the 
thing,  you  are  greedy  and   infatuated. 

Will  you  have  nothing,  then,  instead 
of  the  supper  ?     You  shall  have  this  — 


s-.f-.e3 


177 


>0  »>»l 


"mm 


?*vM 


i 


WAStf 


■*«»«* 


HilllifcilllllKill  IIUM 


not  to  have  praised  one  whom  you  had 
no  mind  to  praise,  and  not  to  have 
endured  the  insolence  of  his  door- 
keepers. 


I78 


XXV. 


AIMS    OF    NATURE 


The  will  of  Nature  is  to  be  learned 
from  matters  that  do  not  concern  our- 
selves. Thus,  when  a  boy  breaks  the 
cup  of  another  man,  we  are  ready  to 
say,  It  is  a  common  chance. 

Know,  then,  that  when  your  own  is 
broken,  it  behoves  you  to  be  as  if  it 
were  another  man's.  And  apply  this 
even  to  greater  things.  Has  another 
man's  child  died,  or  his  wife  ?  who  is 
there  that  will  not  say,  It  is  the  lot  of 
humanity.  But  when  his  own  dies,  then 
straightway  it  is,  Alas,  wretched  that  I 


am 


But  we  should  bethink  ourselves  what 


179 


i8o 


i8i 


J- 


tl- 


XXVII. 

A    MAN    SHOULD    BE    ONE    MAN 

In  every  work  you  take  in  hand  mark 
well  what  must  go  before  and  what  must 
follow,  and  so  proceed.  For  else  you 
shall  at  first  set  out  eagerly,  as  not 
regarding  what  is  to  follow ;  but  in  the 
end,  if  any  difficulties  have  arisen,  you 
will  leave  it  off  with  shame. 

So  you  wish  to  conquer  in  the  Olympic 
games  .?  And  I,  too,  by  the  Gods  ;  and 
a  fine  thing  it  would  be.  But  mark  the 
prefaces  and  the  consequences,  and  then 
set  to  work.  You  must  go  under  dis- 
cipline, eat  by  rule,  abstain  from  dainties, 
exercise  yourself  at  the  appointed  hour, 
in  heat  or  cold,  whether  you  will  or  no, 
drink  nothing  cold,  nor  wine  at  will ;  in 
a  word,  you  must  give  yourself  over  to 
the    trainer    as    to    a    physician.     Then 


182 


in  the  contest  itself  there  is  the  digging 
race,  and  you  are  like  enough  to  dislocate 
your  wrist,  or  turn  your  ankle,  to  swal- 
low a  great  deal  of  dust,  to  be  soundly 
drubbed,  and  after  all  these  things  to  be 
defeated. 

If,  having  considered  these  things, 
you  are  still  in  the  mind  to  enter  for  the 
contest,  then  do  so.  But  without  con- 
sideration you  will  turn  from  one  thing 
to  another  like  a  child,  who  now  plays 
the  wrestler,  now  the  gladiator,  now 
sounds  the  trumpet,  then  declaims  like 
an  actor ;  and  so  you,  too,  will  be  first  an 
athlete,  then  a  gladiator,  then  an  orator, 
then  a  philosopher,  and  nothing  with 
your  whole  soul ;  but  as  an  ape  you 
will  mimic  everything  you  see,  and  be 
charmed  with  one  thing  after  another. 
For  you  approached  nothing  with  con- 
sideration or  regularity,  but  rashly,  and 
with  a  cold  desire. 

And   thus  some   men,  having  seen  a 


v<* 


2 


183 


philosopher,  and  heard  discourse  like  that 
of  Euphrates  (yet  who  indeed  can  say 
that  any  discourse  is  like  his  ?)  desire 
that  they  also  may  become  philosophers. 

But,  O  man  !  consider  first  what  it  is 
you  are  about  to  do,  and  then  inquire  of 
your  own  nature  whether  you  can  carry 
it  out.  Will  you  be  a  pentathlos,  or  a 
wrestler  ?  Then,  scan  your  arms  and 
thighs ;  try  your  loins.  For  different 
men  are  made  for  different  ends. 

Think  you,  you  can  be  a  sage,  and 
continue  to  eat  and  drink  and  be  wrathful 
and  take  offence  just  as  you  were  wont  ? 
Nay,  but  you  must  watch  and  labour, 
and  withdraw  yourself  from  your  house- 
hold, and  be  despised  by  any  serving 
boy,  and  be  ridiculed  by  your  neighbours, 
and  take  the  lower  place  everywhere,  in 
honours,  in  authority,  in  courts  of  justice, 
in  dealings  of  every  kind. 

Consider  these  things  —  whether  you 
are  willing  at  such  a  price  to  gain  peace, 


184 


«r 


freedom,  and  an  untroubled  spirit.  And 
if  not,  then  attempt  it  not,  nor,  like  a 
child,  play  now  the  philosopher,  then 
the  tax-gatherer,  then  the  orator,  then 
the  Procurator  of  Caesar.  For  these 
things  agree  not  among  themselves  •,  and, 
good  or  bad,  it  behoves  you  to  be  one 
man.  You  should  be  perfecting  either 
your  own  ruling  faculty,  or  your  outward 
well-being ;  spending  your  art  either  on 
the  life  within  or  the  life  without ;  that 
is  to  say,  you  must  hold  your  place  either 
among  the  sages  or  the  vulgar. 


185 


AGAINST     THE     EPICUREANS      AND      ACA- 
DEMICS 

Beliefs  that  are  sound  and  manifestly 
true  are  of  necessity  used  even  by  those 
who  deny  them.  And  perhaps  a  man 
might  adduce  this  as  the  greatest  possi- 
ble proof  of  the  manifest  truth  of 
anything,  that  those  who  deny  it  are 
compelled  to  make  use  of  it.  Thus,  if 
a  man  should  deny  that  there  is  any- 
thing universally  true,  it  is  clear  that  he 
is  obliged  to  affirm  the  contrary,  the 
negation  —  that  there  is  nothing  univer- 
sally true.  Slave  !  not  even  this  —  for 
what  is  this  but  to  say  that  if  there  is 
anything  universal  it  is  falsehood  ? 

Again,  if  one   should  come  and   say, 

"x~ 


1 86 


Know  that  nothing  can  be  known,  but 
all  things  are  incapable  of  proof;  or 
another,  Believe  me,  and  it  shall  profit 
you,  that  no  man  ought  to  believe  any 
man ;  or,  again,  another,  Learn  from 
me,  O  man,  that  it  is  not  possible  to 
learn  anything,  and  I  tell  you  this,  and 
I  will  teach  you  if  you  will  —  now 
wherein  do  such  men  differ  from  those 
—  whom  shall  I  say  ?  —  those  who  call 
themselves  Academics  ?  Assent,  O  men, 
that  no  man  can  assent  to  aught ;  believe 
us  that  no  man  can  believe  anyone. 

Thus  Epicurus,  when  he  would  abol- 
ish the  natural  fellowship  of  men  with 
one  another,  employs  the  very  thing  that 
is  being  abolished.  For  what  says  he  ? 
Be  not  deceived,  O  men,  or  misguided 
or  mistaken — there  is  no  natural  fel- 
lowship among  reasoning  beings,  believe 
me ;  and  those  who  speak  otherwise  de- 
ceive us  with  sophisms. 

What   is  that   to  you  ?  let  us  be  de- 


187 


ceived  !  Will  it  be  the  worse  for  you  if 
all  other  men  are  persuaded  that  we 
have  a  natural  fellowship  with  one  an- 
other, and  that  we  should  in  all  ways 
maintain  it  ?  Nay  —  but  much  the 
better  and  safer. 

Man,  why  do  you  take  thought  for  us, 
and  watch  at  night  for  our  sakes  ?  Why 
do  you  kindle  your  lamp  and  rise  early  ? 
why  do  you  write  so  many  books,  lest 
any  of  us  should  be  deceived  about  the 
Gods,  in  supposing  that  they  cared  for 
men  ?  or  lest  anyone  should  take  the 
essence  of  the  Good  to  be  anything  else 
than  Pleasure  ?  For  if  these  things  are 
so,  then  lie  down  and  sleep,  and  live  the 
life  of  a  worm,  where  for  you  have  judged 
yourself  fit  ;  eat  and  drink  and  cohabit 
and  ease  yourself  and  snore. 

What  is  it  to  you  how  other  men 
think  concerning  these  matters,  whether 
soundly  or  unsoundly  ?  What  have  you 
to  do  with  us  ?     With  sheep  have  you 


►^efisv* 


188 


:<? 


some  concern,  because  they  serve  us 
when  they  are  shorn,  and  when  they  are 
milked,  and  at  last  when  they  have  their 
throats  cut. 

Were  it  not,  then,  to  be  desired,  if 
men  could  be  lulled  and  charmed  to 
slumber  by  the  Stoics,  and  give  them- 
selves to  you  and  the  like  of  you,  to  be 
shorn  and  milked  ?  These  things  should 
you  say  to  your  brother  Epicureans  ;  but 
should  you  not  keep  them  hidden  from 
other  men,  and  seek  in  every  way  to  per- 
suade them  above  all  things  that  we  are 
by  nature  social,  and  that  temperance  is 
good  ;  in  order  that  everything  may  be 
kept  for  you  ?  '  Or  should  we  preserve 
this  fellowship  with  some  and  not  with 
others  ?  With  whom,  then,  should  we 
preserve  it  ?  With  those  who  also  pre- 
serve it  toward  us,  or  with  those  who 
transgress  it  ?  And  who  transgress  it 
more  than  you  who  set  forth  such  doc- 
trines ? 


#v3 


X 


fr.Mg*  Ha 


189 


What,  then,  was  it  that  roused  up 
Epicurus  from  his  sleep,  and  compelled 
him  to  write  the  things  he  wrote  ? 
What  else  than  Nature,  the  mightiest  of 
all  powers  in  humanity  ?  Nature,  that 
drags  the  man,  reluctant  and  groaning, 
to  her  will. 

For,  says  she,  since  it  seems  to  thee 
that  there  is  no  fellowship  among  men, 
write  this  down,  and  deliver  it  to  others, 
and  watch  and  wake  for  this,  and  be 
thyself  by  thine  own  deed  the  accuser  of 
thine  own  opinions. 

Shall  we,  then,  say  that  Orestes  was 
driven  by  the  Furies  and  aroused  from 
sleep,  and  did  not  crueller  Furies  and 
Avengers  rouse  this  man  as  he  slum- 
bered, and  suffered  him  not  to  rest,  but 
compelled  him,  as  madness  and  wine  the 
priests  of  Kybele,  to  proclaim  his  own 
evils  ?  So  mighty  and  invincible  a  thing 
is  man's  nature. 

For  how  can  a  vine  be  affected,  and 


i^JS-.y-i-.-: 


.  .  »..■->    *-W  fr?  ,--, 


>JSiL 


190 


not  in  the  manner  of  a  vine,  but  of  an 
olive  ?  Or  how,  again,  can  an  olive  be 
affected  not  in  the  manner  of  an  olive 
but  of  a  vine  ?  It  is  impossible,  it 
can  not  be  conceived.  Neither,  then,  is 
it  possible  for  a  man  wholly  to  lose  the 
affections  of  humanity,  for  even  eunuchs 
can  not  cut  away  from  themselves  the 
desires  of  men.  And  thus  Epicurus  has 
cut  away  all  that  belongs  to  a  man  as 
father  of  a  family,  and  as  citizen,  and 
as  friend  ;  but  the  desires  of  humanity 
he  has  not  cut  away,  for  he  could  not ; 
no  more  than  these  pitiful  Academics 
are  able  to  cast  away  or  to  blind  their 
own  perceptions,  although  this  is  the 
thing  that  they  have  striven  with  all 
their  zeal  to  do. 

How  shameful  is  this !  that  a  man 
having  received  from  Nature  measures 
and  canons  for  the  recognition  of  truth, 
should  study  not  to  add  to  them  and 
perfect  them  where  they  are  wanting,  but 


w 


e-Mb 


I9I 


the  very  contrary  of  this;  if  there  be 
anything  that  may  lead  us  to  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth,  they  strive  to  abolish 
and  destroy  it. 

What  say  you,  philosopher  ?  religion 
and  holiness,  what  do  you  take  them 
for? 

— ■ —  "  If  you  will,  I  shall  prove  that 
they  are  good."  So  be  it ;  prove  it  then,  in 
order  that  our  citizens  may  be  converted 
and  honour  the  Divinity,  and  be  no  longer 
neglectful  of  the  greatest  things. 

"  Now   have    you    received    the 

proofs  ?  " 

I  have,  and  am  thankful  therefor. 

"  Now  since  you  are  exceedingly 

well  pleased  with  these  things,  hear  the 
contrary  :  There  are  no  Gods,  or  if  there 
be,  they  have  no  care  for  men,  nor  have 
we  any  communion  with  them ;  and  this 
religion  and  holiness,  whereof  the  multi- 
tude babble,  is  the  lying  of  impostors  and 
sophists,  or  of  legislators,  by  Zeus  !   for 


192 


XX: 


the  frighting  and  restraining  of  evil- 
doers." 

Well  said,  philosopher !  the  citizens 
shall  have  much  profit  of  you  !  you 
have  already  brought  back  all  our  youths 
to  the  contempt  of  sacred  things. 

"  What  now  ?  are  these  doctrines 

not  pleasing  to  you  ?  Learn,  then,  that 
Righteousness  is  nothing,  that  Reverence 
is  folly,  that  a  father  is  nothing,  a  son 
nothing." 

Well  said,  philosopher  !  proceed,  per- 
suade the  young,  that  we  may  multiply 
the  number  of  those  who  believe  and 
speak  with  you.  From  these  teachings 
have  grown  our  well-governed  States, 
from  these  did  Sparta  spring,  and  these 
beliefs,  by  his  laws  and  discipline,  did 
Lycurgus  plant  among  his  people :  — 
That  slavery  is  no  more  base  than 
honourable,  nor  to  be  free  men  more 
honourable  than  base.  Through  these 
opinions  died   those   who   fell   at   Ther- 


193 


mopyl;e,  and  through  what  others  did  the 
Athenians  forsake  their  city  ? 

Then  those  who  speak  such  things 
marry,  and  beget  children,  and  take  part 
in  public  affairs,  and  make  themselves 
priests  and  augurs  —  of  what?  Of 
beings  that  do  not  exist !  and  they  ques- 
tion the  Pythian  oracle  that  they  may 
learn  falsehoods ;  and  they  declare  the 
oracles  to  others.  O  monstrous  impu- 
dence and  imposture  ! 


194 


ON    SLAVERY 


A  certain  man  having  inquired  how 
one  may  make  his  meals  in  a  manner 
pleasing  to  the  Gods,  If  he  do  it  up- 
rightly, said  Epictetus,  and  considerately, 
and  equably,  and  temperately,  and  orderly, 
shall  it  not  also  be  thus  pleasing  to  the 
Gods  ?  But  when  you  ask  for  hot  water, 
and  the  boy  does  not  hear,  or,  hearing, 
brings  it  only  luke-warm  ;  or  if  he  is  not 
even  to  be  found  in  the  house,  then  is  it 
not  pleasing  to  the  Gods  if  you  refrain 
from  indignation,  and  do  not  burst  with 
passion  ?  How  shall  one  endure  such 
fellows  ? 

Wretch,  will  you  not  bear  with  your 
own  brother,  who  is  of  the  progeny  of 
Zeus,  like  a  son  sprung  of  the  same  seed 


195 


«&- 


as  yourself,  and  of  the  same  heavenly 
descent,  but  you  must  straightway  make 
yourself  a  tyrant,  for  the  place  of  com- 
mand in  which  you  are  set  ?  Will  you 
not  remember  who  you  are,  and  whom 
you  ruled  —  that  they  are  kinsmen, 
brethren  by  nature,  the  progeny  of  Zeus  ? 

But  I  have  bought  them,  and  they  have 
not  bought  me  ! 

See  you,  then,  whither  you  are  looking 
—  toward  the  earth,  toward  the  pit  of 
perdition,  toward  these  miserable  laws 
of  dead  men  ?  but  toward  the  laws  of 
the  Gods  you  look  not. 

That  which  you  would  not  suffer  your- 
self, seek  not  to  lay  upon  others.  You 
would  not  be  a  slave  —  look  to  it,  that 
others  be  not  slaves  to  you.  For  if  you 
endure  to  have  slaves,  it  seems  that 
you  yourself  are  first  of  all  a  slave.  For 
virtue  has  no  communion  with  vice  nor 
freedom  with  slavery. 

As  one   who   is   in  health  would   not 


196 


197 


III. 

TO    THE    ADMINISTRATOR    OF    THE    FREE 
CITIES,    WHO    WAS    AN    EPICUREAN 

The  Administrator  having  visited  him 
(and  this  man  was  an  Epicurean),  It  is 
proper,  said  Epictetus,  that  ignorant 
people  like  us  should  inquire  of  you  that 
are  philosophers  (as  men  who  come  into 
a  strange  city  make  inquiry  of  the  citizens 
and  those  familiar  with  the  place)  what 
is  the  chief  thing  in  the  world,  to  the 
end  that,  having  learned  it,  we  may  go 
in  search  of  it,  and  behold  it,  as  men  do 
with  objects  in  the  cities. 

Now,  that  there  are  three  things  with 
which  man  is  concerned  —  soul,  and 
body,  and  the  outer  world  —  scarce  any 
one   will   deny.      It   remains,  then,  for 


198 


men  like  you  to  answer  which  is  the  chief 
of  these  things  ?  What  shall  we  declare 
to  men  ?  Is  it  the  flesh  ?  And  was  it 
for  this  that  Maximus  sent  forth  his  son, 
and  sailed  with  him  through  the  tempest 
as  far  as  Cassiope,  for  somewhat  that  he 
should  feel  in  the  flesh  ? 

But  the  Epicurean  denying  this,  and 
saying,  God  forbid,  Epictetus  said  : 

Is  it  not  fit,  then,  that  we  should  be 
zealous  about  that,  the  chief  thing  ? 

"Of  all  things  most  fit." 

What,  then,  have  we  greater  than  the 
flesh  ? 

"The  soul,"  he  said. 

And  the  good  of  the  chief  thing,  is  it 
greater  than  the  good  of  the  lower 
thing  ? 

"  The  good  of  the  chief  thing  is 

greater." 

And  the  good  things  of  the  soul,  are 
they  in  the  power  of  the  Will,  or  beyond 
the  Will  ? 


JL 


">;v: 


199 


"  They  are  in  the  power  of  the 

Will." 

The    pleasure    of   the    soul,  then,    is 
within  the  power  of  the  Will  ? 

He  assented. 

And  this  pleasure  itself,  whence  may 
it  arise?   From  itself?   But  this  is  incon- 
ceivable ;    for  we    must    suppose    some 
original  substance  of  the  Good,  whereof 
the  soul  doth  make  us  sensible  when  we 
light  upon  it. 

This,  too,  he  admitted. 

Wherein,  then,  are    we    sensible    of 
this   spiritual   pleasure  ?    for  if  it  be  in 
spiritual  things,  the  nature  of  the  Good 
is  discovered.     For  the  Good  can  not  be 
something  different  from  the  thing  that 
justly  delights  us ;    nor,  if  the  original 
thing  be  not  good,  can  anything  be  good 
that  proceeds  from  it ;  for,  in  order  that 
the  thing  proceeding  may  be  good,  the 
original  thing  must  be  good  also.     But 
this   you  would   never  say,  if  you   had 

200 


^ 


your  wits,  for  so  you  would  speak  things 
that  agree  not  with  Epicurus  and  the 
rest  of  your  opinions.  It  remains,  then, 
that  we  are  conscious  in  bodily  things  of 
this  pleasure  of  the  soul,  and  again,  that 
these  are  the  original  things  and  the  very 
substance  of  the  Good. 

Wherefore  Maximus  did  foolishly  if 
he  made  his  voyage  for  the  sake  of  any- 
thing else  than  the  flesh ;  that  is,  than 
the  chief  thing.  And  any  man  does 
foolishly  who  restrains  himself  from 
others'  good,  if  he  be  a  judge,  and  able 
to  take  them. 

But,  if  you  please,  let  us  regard  this 
only,  how  it  may  be  done  secretly  and 
safely,  and  so  that  none  may  know  it. 
For  neither  does  Epicurus  himself  declare 
stealing  to  be  bad,  but  only  to  be  caught 
stealing ;  and  because  it  is  impossible  to 
be  certain  of  no  discovery,  therefore  he 
says,  You  shall  not  steal. 

But  I  say  that  if  we  steal  with  skill 


\°*  ^  i 


20I 


and  discretion,  we  shall  not  be  caught. 
And,  moreover,    if   we    have    powerful 
friends    among     men    and    women     at 
Rome,  and  the    Greeks   are   feeble,   no 
one  will  dare  go  thither   on  this   score. 
Why   do   you    refrain    from    your  own 
good?     This  is  foolish  —  this  is  absurd. 
But  not  even  if  you  tell  me  you  do  re- 
frain will  I  believe  you.       For,  as  it  is 
impossible   to    assent    to    anything   that 
appears   to   be   a    falsehood,  or  to   turn 
away    from    what    appears  to    be    true, 
even  so  it  is  impossible  to  withhold  one- 
self  from  anything  that   appears   to  be 
good.      But  riches  are  a  good,  and,  at  all 
events,  the  most  potent  means  of  pleas- 
ure.       Wherefore,    then,    not    compass 
them  ?     And  why  not  corrupt  our  neigh- 
bour's wife,  if  we  may  do  it  secretly  ? 
and  also,  if  the   husband   talk  nonsense 
about   it,  let  us  fling  him  out !     If  you 
will  be  a  true  and   perfect  philosopher, 
and  obedient  to  your  own  doctrines,  thus 


r 


202 


^ 


must  you  do ;  but  if  you  do  not,  you 
differ  no  whit  from  us  that  are  called 
Stoics.  For  truly  we  ourselves  say  one 
thing  and  do  another ;  we  speak  fair 
and  honest  things,  and  do  vile  ones. 
But  the  opposite  distemper  will  be  yours 
—  a  vile  creed  and  honourable  deeds. 

And  you  think,  God  help  you  !  of  a 
city  of  Epicureans  ?  I  do  not  marry. 
Nor  I ;  for  it  is  not  right  to  marry,  nor 
beget  children,  nor  take  part  in  public 
affairs. 

What  will  come  to  pass  then  ? 
Whence  shall  we  have  citizens  ?  who 
shall  educate  them  ?  who  shall  be  the 
overseer  of  youth  ?  who  the  director  of 
gymnastics  ?  and  how  shall  the  youth 
be  trained  up  ?  as  the  Lacedaemonians  ? 
or  as  the  Athenians  ? 

Take  me  a  youth,  and  bring  him  up 
after  these  doctrines  of  yours  !  Evils  are 
they,  subversive  of  States,  mischievous 
to  households,  unbecoming   to   women. 


203 


Abandon  them,  man  !  You  dwell  in  a 
chief  city ;  it  is  your  part  to  rule,  to 
judge  righteously,  to  refrain  from  other 
men's  goods  ;  nor  must  any  woman 
seem  beautiful  to  you  save  your  own 
wife,  nor  vessel  of  gold  or  silver.  Seek 
for  doctrines  in  harmony  with  these 
words,  from  which  setting  out  you  may 
with  gladness  abandon  things  so  potent 
to  attract  and  overcome.  But  if  beside 
the  seduction  of  these  things  we  have 
sought  out  some  philosophy  like  this 
that  pushes  us  toward  them,  and  con- 
firms us  in  them,  what  shall  come  of 
it? 

In  the  graver's  work,  which  is  the 
chief  thing  ?  the  silver  or  the  art  ? 
The  substance  of  the  hand  is  flesh,  but 
the  main  things  are  the  works  of  the  hand. 
The  obligations,  therefore,  are  also  three 
—  those  that  concern  us,  first,  in  that 
we  are ;  and  second,  as  we  are ;  and 
third,  the  main  things  themselves. 


204 


And  thus  in  man,  too,  it  is  not  meet 
to  value  the  material,  this  flesh,  but  the 
main  things.  What  are  these  ?  To 
take  part  in  public  affairs,  to  marry, 
to  beget  children,  to  fear  God,  to  care 
for  parents,  and,  in  general,  to  pursue,  to 
avoid,  to  desire,  to  dislike,  as  each  of 
these  things  should  be  done,  as  Nature 
made  us  to  do.  And  how  made  she 
us  ?  To  be  free,  generous,  pious.  For 
what  other  creature  blushes  ?  what  other 
is  capable  of  the  sense  of  shame  ? 

And  to  these  things  let  Pleasure  be 
subject  as  a  minister,  a  servant,  that  she 
may  summon  forth  our  ardour,  and  that 
she  also  may  aid  in  works  that  are  ac- 
cording to  Nature. 

"  But  I  am  a  wealthy  man,  and 

have  no  need  of  aught." 

Why,  then,  do  you  profess  philos- 
ophy ?  Your  vessels  of  gold  and  ves- 
sels of  silver  are  enough  for  you ;  what 
need  have  you  of  doctrines  ? 


205 


"  But  I  am  also  a  judge  of  the 

Greeks  !  " 

Do  you  know  how  to  judge  —  who 
made  you  to  know  ? 

"  Caesar  wrote  me  a  commis- 
sion." 

Let  him  write  you  a  commission  to  be 
a  judge  of  music,  and  what  help  will 
it  be  to  you  ?  And  how  did  you  become 
a  judge  ?  by  kissing  of  what  man's  hand  ? 
Was  it  that  of  Symphorus  or  Nume- 
nijs  ?  Before  whose  bed-chamber  did 
you  sleep  ?  To  whom  did  you  send 
gifts  ?  Do  you  not  perceive,  then,  that 
to  be  a  judge  is  worth  just  as  much  as 
Numenius  is  worth  ? 

"But    I    can    cast    into    prison 

whom  I  will." 

As  if  he  were  a  stone. 

"  But    I    can    flog   any    man    I 

will." 

As  if  he  were  an   ass.     This   is   no 
government  of  men.      Rule  us  as  reason- 


^L 


•T£> 


206 


ing  beings ;  show  us  what  is  for  our 
good,  and  we  shall  follow  it ;  show  us 
what  is  for  our  ill,  and  we  shall  turn 
away  from  it ;  make  us  emulators  of 
yourself,  as  Socrates  made  his  disciples. 
He,  indeed,  was  one  that  governed  men 
as  men,  who  made  them  subject  unto 
him  in  their  pursuit  and  their  avoidance, 
their  desire  and  dislike.  Do  this,  do  not 
this,  or  I  will  cast  you  into  prison.  This 
is  not  the  rule  of  reasoning  beings.  But, 
As  Zeus  has  ordered,  so  act ;  but  if  you 
do  not,  you  shall  suffer  loss  and  hurt. 
What  hurt?  None  other  than  this  — 
not  to  have  done  what  it  behoved  you  to 
do.  You  shall  lose  faith,  piety,  decency 
—  look  for  no  greater  injuries  than 
these. 

THE    END. 


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